


Magic starts with M and so does…

by AithusaQueen



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, But Merlin Morgana and Mordred get to be awesome first, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Good Mordred (Merlin), Good Morgana (Merlin), Happy Ending, Magic Revealed, Reveal Fic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-09
Updated: 2021-01-17
Packaged: 2021-03-10 11:02:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 31,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27969512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AithusaQueen/pseuds/AithusaQueen
Summary: When three mysterious cloaked sorcerers repeatedly save the kingdom, what does this mean about the evilness of magic? Who are they, and why are they helping Camelot?OrMerlin, Mordred, and Morgana secretly save everyone’s lives while showing Arthur that magic can be used for good.
Relationships: Gwaine & Merlin (Merlin), Merlin & Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Merlin & Mordred (Merlin), Merlin & Morgana (Merlin), Mordred & Morgana (Merlin), Percival & Mordred
Comments: 59
Kudos: 211





	1. Maybe

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first ever fic, and I'm so excited! I was planning on making this something short, but then it just sort of ran away with me. I'm expecting it to be about 7 chapters, and I'm going to try to update weekly. It just might not be on the same day every week. I hope you enjoy!

The King of Camelot was half-asleep sitting in a council meeting listening to a local lord drone on about the recent harvest and grain reserves. The only reason he managed to keep his eyes open was that the numbers started swimming behind his eyelids every time they drifted closed. As he snapped back awake for the fourth time, he distractedly looked to see if his knights were fairing any better. Sure enough, the rest of his knights seemed to be falling asleep as well. Most were subtle. But Gwaine was not most knights. He’d had the audacity to steal some of the Queen’s beauty supplies to paint eyes on top of his eyelids. However, if the hints of white powder on Guinevere’s fingers were any indication, she had willingly been his partner in crime. The King had to suppress a giggle at the sight. _Stop it. Sleeping or giggling during council meetings is not kingly behavior._ A little voice in his head that sounded suspiciously like king Uther reminded him.

At least Guinevere had found an outlet for that mischievous spirit he loved her for. Arthur looks to her in the hopes of receiving one of his wife’s comforting smiles, knowing he could get through this political torture so long as he wasn’t doing it alone. But, he can’t find her eyes. He can’t even see the top half of her face since she chose to wear an enormous sun hat to the council meeting. She had called it a fashion statement when they had entered the chambers, but now he realizes he can hear faint snoring coming from beside him.

The King has never felt so betrayed. Now he is left to listen to lord whats-his-name, who seems to be falling asleep at his own words, all by himself.

Well, ‘listen’ is a strong word since he hasn’t really heard anything the lord has said for the past half a handle mark, give or take a whole council meeting.

Oh well, it doesn’t matter because Merlin will fill him in on all the important parts later. Arthur glances at his manservant to make sure he hasn’t managed to fall asleep even though he is standing up. Maybe one of Merlin’s cheerful smiles will be enough to get him through the rest of the meeting.

Merlin is awake. At least one person is. But, instead of paying attention to the lord, as he should be in his role of unofficial advisor to the king, he is staring directly at… Mordred? The young knight, on the other hand, seemed to be keeping his (slowly closing) eyes gazing anywhere but Merlin. Seriously, what is going on with those two?

The King’s most trusted have failed him. His friends and even his wife have abandoned him in his struggle. It is truly a dark day in Camelot.

He turns his attention back on the lord, trying not to be jealous of the peaceful rest Guinevere’s enjoying beside him. As he does so, his eyes flick to Leon, sitting up as straight as a board and nodding along respectfully to the noble’s report. At last, someone who knows how to behave.

Wait a minute…

Leon’s nods look just a little too mechanical, and his eyes look a little too unfocused. _That bastard’s faking it._ Arthur’s known his First Knight longer than anyone, he grew up with the man. That comes with the unfortunate advantage of seeing through his respectful facade and to the utter betrayal of leaving his king to listen to lord so-and-so all by himself.

Arthur’s had enough of his disappointing observations and resigns himself to refocusing on pretending to listen.

“… sorcerers spotted –“

“What?” Arthur blurts, instantly awake. At the mention of magic, the lord now has his full attention.

“Three cloaked sorcerers were spotted in a few fields that had died due to the severe drought this year,” the lord repeated shortly, a little exacerbated that the king clearly hadn’t been listening.

 _Oh, a drought, maybe I should have been paying attention._ Out of the corner of his eye, Arthur noticed Merlin stiffen as Mordred finally met his eye. _Ah_.

“Do you think these sorcerers are responsible for the drought?” the King questioned. If this was caused by magic, then surely his knights could fix the problem by killing something or someone. Said knights were now either listening intently or discreetly elbowing those that were still asleep—all except Mordred, who looked at the lord worriedly. Arthur figured the young knight, who had been itching to prove himself since ‘the tavern incident,’ would jump at the chance to protect the kingdom. Instead, Mordred exchanged a worried glance with Merlin. _Oh, Mordred must know about his frie-uh-manservants fear of magic_. He was absolutely not jealous of how they were having a conversation just by looking at each other. Never mind the fact Guinevere was starting to drool beside him. 

Coming out of his musing, the King realized the lord hadn’t answered his question yet. For a minute, the lord repeatedly opened and closed his mouth like a gaping fish as if searching for the right words. Even as he seemed to have found them, a nervous expression crossed the usually stoic lord’s face. “Well, Sire, without these fields, our grain reserves would have been half what is required to feed the citadel through the winter…” _Yes, I definitely should have been paying attention._ “… but after the sorcerers were seen enchanting the fields, they returned to life, and we reaped the most bountiful harvest in 20 years.” A tinge of pride seeped through the lord’s wariness but instantly disappeared at the scowl on the king’s face.

Arthur couldn’t understand. It almost sounded like the sorcerers had saved Camelot from a famine. But that couldn’t be possible. Magic was evil. Magic destroyed. Magic didn’t help people. Magic only corrupted those who used it. Like how it did to Morgana. But she hadn’t attacked in months, and no matter how many times he thought about it, he couldn’t figure out why she had stopped. 

But, on to more pressing matters.

“Do you have a description of the sorcerers so I may alert my knights on patrol to look for them?” For some reason, Merlin looked a little disappointed at Arthur’s question. _He probably assumed we would go out on a quest, but I can’t leave to go on a wild goose chase with so little information to go on._

Arthur noticed Merlin and Mordred have another conversation with their eyes. At this point, it was getting a little freaky. Maybe he should move Mordred to the far side of the room.

“The sorcerers were all seen to be wearing long, hooded cloaks. Out of the three, there were two men, one in a blue and one in a green cloak. The third appeared to be a woman in a red cloak. I apologize, sire, but that is all the description I can give.”

Arthur barely contained his sigh. That wasn’t just a little information. That was no information. _At least now we know to check that the crops weren’t tainted by magic._

_***_

A week later, Arthur was eating dinner in his chambers. His meal was prepared with the crops harvested from the fields the sorcerers had enchanted. He wanted to try them himself to ensure they weren’t tainted before allowing his people to eat them. Earlier that evening, when he had ordered such a meal, Merlin had scoffed at him and left muttering about him being a self-sacrificing idiot. Naturally, he had thrown a decorative pillow at him as he closed the door. He grabbed a pillow because he was tired of replacing dented goblets, not because it was softer. Obviously.

After Merlin’s departure, Arthur had resigned himself to having to go down to get this meal himself when Merlin suddenly reentered the room with the requested “magical” meal.

This was odd…

Usually, Merlin was extremely nervous and protective of Arthur whenever magic was remotely mentioned. Perhaps Merlin felt confident that this meal wasn’t poisoned. While that should have been reassuring, Merlin, and confidence in the same sentence left him a little worried.

But now, Merlin was flittering about the room doing chores, while Arthur was already halfway through his meal. And he could confidently say the food tasted completely normal. Not that he would really know what magically tainted food would taste like. Nevertheless, Arthur deemed it safe to let his subject eat. He opened his mouth, about to tell Merlin his conclusion, when a terror-stricken Leon burst through the doors of his chambers.

“D-Dragon,” Leon manages to gasp out. He looked like he ran all the way through the castle.

“Dragon?” Arthur asks wide-eyed.

“Dragon,” Leon repeated. It seemed to be the only word he could get out at the moment.

“Where?” Merlin, for once the voice of reason in a situation, asked.

“I-I-w-wolf…kid-sa- v-vill-town-age… Dragon” Yes, ‘dragon’ was indeed the only word he could say.

Luckily, Elyan, looking a little paler than usual, swept into the room to save Leon from his spluttering.

“A woman has come to report a dragon sighting in a nearby village. She has requested your aid in keeping the village and its children safe.”

Arthur hurried out of his room with Merlin and his knights on his heels as he entered the council chambers. Mordred and Percival were standing in front of a woman holding a young girl around 9 years old in a protective grip. Neither knight attempted to start a conversation with the pair. Percival seemed to be successfully teaching Mordred the art of never speaking, but the tension in the room was still clearly communicated.

When the woman saw the King, she began frantically screeching pleas for help. Somehow she managed to be even less coherent than Leon.

Her panicky shrieks were getting them nowhere. The king stepped forward and placed a hand on the woman’s shoulder, “Please calm down, I will listen to your story, but I need you to take a breath first and start from the beginning.”

“Our village, Redthorn, has been attacked by wolves for the past few months, and we have lost livestock and many children to the beasts. T-two days ago, my daughter, Meredith, and some of the other village children were fetching water from the stream when the wolves surrounded them. As if the wolves weren’t bad enough, an even more heinous monster descended on the group. From their descriptions, i-it was a dragon, Sire. They say it began fighting with the wolves, probably wanting to eat the children itself. They all ran and barely made it back to the village with their lives. Please help us, Sire, before the monster eats us all.” The woman begged while hugging her daughter tightly as if the dragon might come and take her away at any moment.

“That’s not true,” the daughter, Meredith, interjected, “the dragon protected us from the nasty wolves.”

“Please, Sire, my daughter doesn’t know what she is saying. The monster must have infected her mind.”

“That’s not true! The dragon protected us. She saved us. She was the most beautiful creature I have ever seen. She was completely white like an angel. She can’t be evil.”

The wonder in the young girl’s voice reminded Arthur of when he was young and naïve and questioned whether magic could be beautiful and good. But, he also remembered the nights the Great Dragon rained fire from the sky. No, this dragon had to be evil. Dragons are only capable of causing death and destruction.

With his mind made up, he looked around at his other knights to see how they reacted to the disagreement between mother and daughter. He would not force them to fight a dragon. Elyan was the most composed besides Gwaine, who had clearly been dragged here from the tavern and was still slightly drunk. Percival’s face softened at Meredith’s description, but his posture remained as stoic as ever. Beside him, Mordred looked… sad or mournful? Since when had he become completely unable to read his youngest knight.

Leon still looked pale but seemed to have recovered from his sprint to Arthur’s chambers. He was trying unsuccessfully to school his terrified expression into one of formal concern. The terror in his eyes was unsettling. His first knight was not known to frighten easily. But of course Leon would be horrified at the possibility of another dragon. He had been in Camelot during the Great Dragon’s attack, and so had Merlin…

When he looked at Merlin, Arthur was expecting poorly concealed fear on his frien-uh-manservant’s face. What he wasn’t expecting to see was … was that pride? As he looked down at the little girl, he seemed to be trying to contain a grin. But why would he be happy a dragon was attacking village children? Maybe he was proud the little girl had enough sense to run away? That would be the kind of stupid thing he would grin at—typical Merlin.

The next morning the king and his trusted knights rode to Redthorn to hunt down the dragon. For once, Merlin was remained quiet the whole ride. Instead of chattering endlessly like usual, he kept exchanging meaningful glances with Mordred. This only served to infuriate Arthur even more than the knowledge that another dragon was potentially attacking Camelot’s people.

They searched for a fortnight, but no sign of the dragon could be found. But no sign of the wolves could be found either. Eventually, the king had to return to Camelot to resume his duties. However, it didn’t escape his notice when the village children celebrated at the announcement that the knights were giving up the search. Did they truly believe the dragon had been protecting them?


	2. Midnight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin, Morgana and Mordred practice magic.

As he’s done every week for the past few months, Merlin was currently trudging through the dark forest with only the light of the moon to guide him. Casting a spell to light the way was too risky until he reached their warded clearing. Since the sorcerers were spotted _saving_ some fields from a drought, the knights have been extra vigilant in their hunt for magic users.

That's why he has to blindly walk (stumble) along the same path he's walked every Wednesday night since Mordred was knighted, and together, they convinced Morgana to stop trying to kill Arthur.

Tonight, however, he's late.

Before he could leave, Arthur had demanded he polish his armor for the second time that day since it somehow managed to get dirty during the knighting ceremony. How he managed to ruin his armor in a matter of hours was beyond him. The entire ceremony was indoors— _the utter clotpole_.

He cursed Arthur and the universe for the hundredth time that night as he trips over another root. As if Arthur's prattishness wasn't enough, every single root in the forest seemed to have it out for him. He couldn’t walk 5 feet without nearly falling on his face or colliding with a tree.

After catching himself from falling for the fifth time, he’d had enough. _Screw it._ A quick murmured word and the flash of his eyes preceded the bright blue orb that brightened the surrounding forest and sent some nearby nocturnal creatures scurrying. Holding the orb in his palm, Merlin continued on his way, thankfully tripping over fewer roots this time, but still cursing Arthur for making him late.

“What happened to ‘keeping the secret’?” A teasing voice interrupted his string of complaints.

Despite the red hood covering her face, he could hear Morgana’s smirk in her tone.

“Being executed won’t matter much if Arthur works me to death first,” Merlin retorted as he sulkily entered the clearing and plopped down by the fire.

“Oh please, you use magic to do your chores anyway,” Mordred added disapprovingly.

“At least I didn’t miss a quest because I spent a whole week in the taver-”

“More importantly, your late,” Morgana scolded. These weekly meetings were her only source of companionship since Mordred and Merlin had convinced her to stop trying to take over Camelot. Their reconciliation had involved a painfully long week trapped at the bottom of a ravine. The whole experience was complete with tears, awkward hugs, and some dragon fire. But that’s a story for another time.

Unfortunately, Arthur believes Merlin and Mordred spent the whole week in the tavern, but that’s what happens when you leave Gaius to cover for you. Upon their return, Mordred was absolutely mortified to learn of Gaius’ excuse for them. He still turns Camelot red whenever anyone so much as mentions ‘the tavern incident.’ So naturally, Merlin teases him about it endlessly.

However, even on days without Merlin and Mordred, Morgana hasn’t been completely alone. She’s had Aithusa, who is now curled around her and enjoying the warmth of the fire, as her silent companion. Merlin’s not really sure who is taking care of who in their relationship, but he leaves it to be as long as his baby dragon is safe.

Aithusa. That reminds him. “I was late because Arthur’s been giving me all the extra paperwork that he missed while chasing a dragon for the last two weeks on top of my other chores.”

“Yeah, he was in a pretty bad mood in training and made us do so many extra drills I lost count. Even Percival was tired by the end of it! I don’t think Gwaine even had the energy to go to the tavern tonight.”

“That’s the problem with barbarians. They only know how to solve their problems through violence.”

Merlin let that comment slide. It only took one of their midnight meetings for him to give up on trying to defend Arthur’s honor. Morgana may not be actively trying to kill her brother, but that didn’t mean she maintained anything more than a resignation towards his continued existence.

“When I talked to him yesterday, it sounded like he’s starting to believe that the dragon wasn’t real. Or maybe that it was something other than a dragon.”

As he spoke, Merlin’s gaze drifted over to Aithusa. With her eyes closed in a peaceful sleep and her white scales illuminated by the firelight, she looked ethereal. The sight reminded him of Meredith, the little girl from Redthorn. The village children saw Aithusa as a protector, while the adults couldn’t see her as anything more than a threat. _She really does look like an angel. If only Arthur could see her like this, then he would never think of dragons as monsters._

At least, he supposed, if Arthur thought she wasn’t real, then she would be safe. _It’s better for her -for us- to be unknown and unappreciated rather than hunted and hated._ At this conclusion, a troubled frown crept onto his face. He couldn't help the feeling of hopelessness that often accompanied any thoughts about the persecution of magic.

Morgana and Mordred felt the mood turn somber as Merlin drifted off into his thoughts.

_Is he alright? Has anything happened in the castle?_

_When isn’t something happening in the castle?_

_You know what I mean. He wasn’t right during our last meeting._

Mordred mentally scoffed. And Morgana raised her eyebrow at him (Gaius had taught her well).

 _Healing Aithusa’s wolf bites left him drained. And he’s too stubborn to actually rest. So instead, he’s just been moody and depressing for the past two weeks._ Mordred replied, letting Morgana feel his frustration through their mental connection.

 _Did my magic deceive me, or did you actually criticize ‘the Great Emrys’?_ Morgana teased.

Mordred chose not to dignify that with a response and simply glared at her. However, the slight quirk of his lips at her playful smirk meant she had come out victorious.

“Ahem”

_Oh crap._

“When you’re talking about someone behind their back, you might want to make sure they aren’t a part of your mind speak conversation.”

Mordred has the decency to look a little sheepish, but Morgana, as proud as ever, faced him without the slightest hint of regret. Sensing that a gloomy atmosphere still loomed over their clearing, she decided to redirect the conversation.

“So what spells will we be practicing today ‘Oh Great and Powerful Emrys’?” Morgana mocked in a light tone. Although it might have come out a little harsh and forced, after all, she was out of practice with the whole human interaction thing.

At her question, Merlin perked right up and began to pull some things out of his bag while continuing to chatter on.

“Well, I thought we’d do some elemental magic. Since we were unable to make it rain on those fields the other day, I thought we would work with the element of water.”

They both grimaced at the reminder. A few weeks ago, when they had tried to save some fields from a drought plaguing half of Camelot, their first attempt failed spectacularly. Believe it or not, they had been trying to be subtle. With this goal of not being noticed, Mordred found an ancient druidic ritual to encourage the skies to rain. After all, there was nothing magical or otherwise incriminating about plain old rain. It could have just been a coincidence that some hooded figures were seen chanting nearby, right?

Well, as it turns out, the ritual required a human sacrifice, which Mordred misread as a ‘hungry’ sacrifice and believed it meant some sort of food. Runes are hard, ok. The trio only realized their mistake when the loaf of bread they all chanted around did absolutely nothing, and the sky remained completely cloudless.

It was only Mordred’s talent for earth magic, a gift of his druidic heritage, that revived the fields. The downside of this approach was that practically every villager witnessed the incredibly magical feat as the fields glowed bright gold before coming back to life. This display was then reported to the local lord, who then reported it to the king.

Needless to say, they all need to work on their water magic.

Merlin pulled a bowl, a waterskin, and his spellbook out of his bag and laid them out in front of them. He filled the bowl, flipped open the spellbook, and they got started.

The trio spent the next hour crafting shapes in the water in the same way they usually did with fire. Merlin made a sea serpent (which looked suspiciously like a dragon) swim through the air and splash onto Aithusa’s nose as she giggled in delight (or the closest thing a dragon can do to giggling).

Morgana crafted a small horse and directed it to prance around the campfire before the flames accidentally consumed it.

Mordred was less successful in his attempts and only managed to make a few droplets float. However, when Morgana burned herself while trying to rescue her water horse from the flames, he managed to use a variation of water magic to heal her wound.

As Mordred and Morgana discussed the benefits of water healing magic versus earth healing magic from the other side of the campfire, Merlin took a moment to bask in the unfamiliar feeling of freedom that his two unlikely friends allowed him.

He knows it's only temporary. Soon they will all have to head their separate ways and pretend like they aren't living in fear. He years for the day when their meetings don’t have to occur in the dead of night. For a time when the knights can join them around the campfire. For Arthur to be able to watch them play with magic and not feel warry of them.

But for now, it’s just him, Mordred, and Morgana. And he can live with that because, with them, he doesn’t feel so hopeless.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had fun writing this chapter. I didn't really know where I wanted it to go when I started, but I think it turned out alright. It's fun to write from Merlin's perspective as well as Arthur's. I have a pretty good idea of where I want the rest of this story to go, but this chapter just sort of popped into my head last minute, and I had to fit it in. I hope you are enjoying this story!


	3. Mislead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin's tired and busy, and things start to catch up to him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So after writing this chapter, I re-read the first two and realized I could do better. They are now freshly edited and slightly rewritten. Nothing really changed in terms of plot. It is not necessary to re-read them if you don't want to, but I would recommend it because some little things might make more sense down the line. 
> 
> This chapter was originally going to be much longer, but I decided to split it in two. Part two (from Arthur's perspective) should be up tomorrow.

It was a miracle they were all still alive. Camelot had spent the last week hosting an open tournament. No matter how many times Merlin whispered, said, shouted, screamed that it was a bad idea, Arthur held the tournament anyway. But finally, it was over, and now Merlin was exhausted.

Since any Camelot tournament isn’t complete without a magical assassination attempt on the king, Merlin had spent the week keeping the King alive.

It all started on the first day of the tournament. While he wasn’t competing because he was recovering from a bandit attack from his last camping trip, Arthur had come to welcome the competitors during registration. Of course, Merlin had accompanied him, scanning every person with his eyes and magic.

Even without the aura of dark magic clinging to him like black tar, Merlin would have been suspicious of the greasy-haired guy in the corner. The man wore a long cloak with numerous bulges from not so discreetly hidden weapons. When he came forward to register, the King wished him luck and reached out to shake his hand. Merlin closed his eyes to hide their gold flicker and cast his strongest protection spell over Arthur. After a few seconds, nothing happened. He dared to peak from one eye and got a glimpse of the man walking away. 

Merlin dropped the spell and let out the breath he had been holding in one large sigh. He instantly regretted it because of the concerned-for-his-sanity look Arthur was now giving him. Putting on his goofiest grin, he prayed the king would let it slide. As usual, he did. 

Maybe the Goddess was finally giving him an easy week. He had already uncovered the threat to the king, and with Mordred’s help, they should be able to take care of it by the end of the day. On the walk back to the castle, Merlin let himself relax, relieved for once that he wouldn’t have to save Camelot by himself.

“I’m going to have Mordred compete in the tournament.”

_Damn it._

If Mordred competes in the tournament, he won’t have time to help Merlin keep Arthur safe. So much for an easy week. 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? He has never competed in a tournament before, and the open ones can be especially dangerous” Maybe it isn’t too late to change Arthur’s mind. He’ll deal with Mordred’s kicked puppy look later.

“He is an excellent fighter, and I think it’s time to let him prove himself. I’ve been hard on him these past few months since the tavern incident.”

At the reminder of 'the tavern incident,' Merlin nearly overlooked his disappointment. It might almost make the difficult week to come more bearable if he gets to tease Mordred the whole time. Almost.

When they return to the castle, Merlin heads towards Gauis’ chambers to prepare some magical remedies in case of an emergency. Arthur heads to do some kingly stuff and presumably inform Mordred of his participation in the tournament. 

***

The next day, he noticed the shifty guy from registration place a dagger delicately in the middle of the road. And then just... leaves it there. As the man walks away, Merlin follows him to the tournament food table, where he leaves another dagger next to the ham. Dagger man, as Merlin has named him, darts into the crowd of people entering the stands and disappears from view. 

Even just approaching the food table, Merlin can feel the dark energy oozing off the plain-looking dagger. He hovers his hand over it, careful not to touch it, and risk releasing some foul curse. He closes his eyes and feels for the enchantment’s purpose.

_You have got to be kidding me._

His fingers tingle, and his stomach turn at the revolting magic placed upon the weapon. Of course, it had to be dark magic. Not only that, but the foul object contains a compulsion spell that will consume anyone who touches it with the single thought: kill the King.

Careful to avoid touching it, he wrapped the dagger in his neckerchief and retraced his steps to find the other one before some unsuspecting citizen falls under its spell. He then returns to his chamber to figure out how to do undo the enchantment. Praying the whole time that no one else would find a dagger. 

***

Turns out, dagger man left a lot more than two daggers lying around. Over the next three days, Merlin had to stop the baker, the tailor’s wife, a barmaid, a chicken, a couple of tournament competitors, and Mordred from killing the king.

Unlike the others, Mordred didn’t actually fall under the spell of one of the daggers. Instead, Arthur had decided that after this tournament, Mordred would have sufficiently redeemed himself from 'the tavern incident' and therefore took every opportunity to tease him about it while he still could. Several times, Merlin had to use mind speak to remind Mordred that strangling the king would not make anyone forget about the incident any faster.

The whole ordeal had been exhausting, and now that it was over, Merlin wanted nothing more than to sleep for a week straight. Sadly though, today was Tuesday, which meant tomorrow night, he, Morgana, and Mordred were going to have to go out and relocate a hippogriff that had decided to nest too close to a nearby village. Every Wednesday night, when they weren’t studying magic or hanging out under the stars, they worked to keep Camelot safe from magic and magic safe from Camelot.

Frankly, he would have slept through it this week if he could. However, they needed to get this hippogriff moved before word reached Arthur. The druids had been extremely helpful in alerting them to magical anomalies before they become a problem, but some villagers had seen the hippogriff and are no doubt on their way to appeal to the king. But that’s a problem for later.

_***_

_We should have dealt with this earlier._

_Definitely._

Breathe in. Breathe out. Breathe in. Let out a long, suffering sigh. Much better.

Dawn had barely broken, but Arthur and his knights were currently in the throne room listening to a knight, who just returned this morning from his patrol, report on a hippogriff attack on a local village.

Merlin already knew what was coming. So he wasn’t surprised when Arthur asked his knights to accompany him on a quest and ordered Merlin to prepare their horses. That doesn’t mean he was any happier about it. While he loved Lily, his bay mare, he did not feel like spending all day riding to a place he was already planning on teleporting to that night. He had so many more important things he could be doing-like sleeping.

A couple of hours and a bit of frantic packing later, Arthur and his most trusted knights were riding out of the citadel, their capes billowing behind them. Once they were a good distance into the forest, Gwaine began to regale them with one of his tavern stories.

Merlin tuned out his friend’s stories. Gwaine was like a brother to him, but the man tended to repeat the same stories, exaggerating a little more each time. Besides, he had already heard about the duel he won using a pickled fish as his only weapon.

Instead, Merlin enjoyed the comfort of the forest, pulsating with life beneath Lily’s feet. With every breath, he becomes more at peace. Sitting astride Lily, he could feel her heartbeat and her connection to the magic of the earth. Through her hooves, he can feel the soil surrounding the roots of the ancient oak trees that line the road. Building a nest in one of the oaks is a delicate little bluebird, spreading its wings and becoming one with the magic of the wind to take flight. Its little wings beat, guiding fresh air back to the young warlock as he takes his next long inhale. Through his magic, he can feel this connection to everything around him. In moments like these, he starts to understand why the druids have given him the title Emrys.

Speaking of druids, a particularly annoying one is prodding his mind and glaring at him. He pulls back from exploring with how magic to turn towards the young knight beside him and raise an eyebrow that would make Gauis proud.

_What is it, Mordred?_

_Your eyes. At least close them before you reach out with your magic._

_You could feel my magic?_ Merlin asks, a little sheepish at being caught. 

_Of course, Emrys. When you reach out to feel the magic of those around you, we can feel your magic as well._

_Oh._

_Please tell me you knew that before feeling for the magic of potential assassins at the tournament last week._

_Of course, I did._ Not. But Mordred never needs to know that.

“Would you two stop it.” Gwaine snaps, interrupting his own story. “It's freaky when you guys stare at each other,” he adds upon seeing the confused expressions on Merlin and Mordred’s faces.

“We weren’t staring at each other,” Merlin defends because they weren’t staring. They were just having a conversation with a perfectly socially acceptable level of eye contact.

“Yes, you were. You guys do it all the time when you think we aren’t looking” Elyan butt in.

_Are we really that obvious?_ Mordred whispers in Merlin’s head, looking a shade paler.

“Mordred, are you feeling alright? You’ve been awfully quiet lately.” Percival gently asks.

When Percival says someone’s been quiet, then you know there is a problem. Clearly, they have not been nearly as discreet as they’ve liked to think. Mordred looks a little awestruck at Percival’s words, both a little touched the knight noticed and shocked because it’s only like the fourth time he’s heard Percival speak.

After spending a minute gaping like a fish, Mordred finally lies, “Oh, it’s nothing. I’m fine. I’ve just never seen a hippogriff before, and I’m not sure what to expect.” He hopes he was convincing even though every part of that was a complete lie.

Luckily, the knights accept his answer, and with one last hard look at Merlin and Mordred, they resume teasing Gwaine about how he's exaggerating his story. Merlin and Mordred are careful to only speak out loud for the remainder of the ride.

At nightfall, the knights make camp in a small valley. While they are still a couple of hours away from the village, they are on high alert because the hippogriff had been sighted along the rocky cliffs that line the area.

Their party is usually quiet as Merlin sets up camp. As always, the knights insist on helping but are only half paying attention to what they are doing as they lay out their bedrolls. Each of them is also focused on listening for any hippogriff-like sounds coming towards them. 

“Your bedrolls on fire,” Elyan points out, gesturing towards Gwaine with his head.

“Aargh!” Gwaine picks up the roll and starts frantically flapping it around to put out the fire. He nearly singes Leon, who has to jump out of the way and collides with Percival in the process. Finally, Merlin, recovering from laughter, grabs the pot of water he was planning on using to make dinner and throws it over Gwaine and his flaming bedroll. Gwaine splutters like a soaked cat but quickly regains his casual grin.

“Thanks, mate.”

“Anytime, but now you get to go refill the pot,” He replied, handing it to Gwaine and offering him a sympathetic pat on the arm. Gwaine turns and walks awake, but as soon as he is out of earshot, the knights erupt into laughter. Through tears of laughter in his eyes, Merlin can see Arthur finally break into a smile and join in laughing with the knights. Gwaine’s antics might be unknightly, but they always serve to lighten the mood. A while later, as the group finally settles down for the night, Merlin notices less tension in Arthur’s face and a small smile on most of the knights' and silently thanks Gwaine.

Mordred was on the second watch. As per the plan, he would wake Merlin, and they would meet Morgana to go relocate the hippogriff. Merlin lies awake under the canopy of trees, knowing he should get some rest but also realizing that he isn’t going to be able to get any. What they plan on doing tonight is risky. Every other Wednesday, they had been free to protect the kingdom without any real risk of their identities being discovered. The usual distance they kept from Camelot and the cover of darkness meant they didn’t have to worry about an attack from those they were protecting. They’ve never had to complete one of their quests with the knights so close. With Arthur so close. Acting like a bumbling idiot was partly due to his clumsiness but mostly useful as a cover, but playing the role of a sorcerer isn't. It's who he is. Even with his royal blue cloak to disguise him, he feels more exposed than ever. He turns his head to see Mordred, who is clutching the bag with his green cloak close to his chest, and Merlin knows he feels the same.

The knights may be getting a good night's sleep tonight, but he and Mordred have their work cut out for them.


	4. Meeting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and his knights finally encounter the cloaked sorcerers.

_You have got to be kidding me. Again?_

Arthur knew it was a magical creature attack from the moment he was startled awake by frantic knocking on his door. Well, he didn’t instantly know, but he figured it out quickly enough. Sun’s not up, no warning bells, knock at the door, so it’s not Merlin. Must be a magical creature attack. Lying in bed, Arthur questions his kingdom's safety if he can jump to that conclusion so easily. There’s time to worry about that later. He’ll just add it to the list of things he chooses not to question too closely. That list is mostly full of Merlin related happenings (or things he hasn’t figured out how Merlin was involved in yet). He groans, rolls out of bed, and starts to get ready. It’s going to be a long day.

Sure enough, a little while later, he’s riding out with his most trusted knights, praying this quest isn’t going to be like the disappearing dragon in Redthorn. He’s still trying to catch up on the paperwork he missed. Well, Merlin is. Regardless, he hopes they can quickly find and dispatch of creature Gaius called a hippogriff, whatever that is. Behind him, his knights are teasing Gwaine again, but he can’t find himself to participate in the banter. He finally felt at ease during the tournament last week. Growing up participating in them, the loud cheers of the crowd and the atmosphere thick with anticipation felt familiar and reassuring. Even better was that it went off without a hitch. Mordred was spectacular in his fights and made it to the quarter-finals. He knew he was right to let him compete, but he will miss teasing his young knight about spending a week in the tavern with Merlin. Thinking back on it now, he didn’t see Merlin much during the last week. Merlin kept excusing himself, saying he had extra duties to help run the tournament even when Arthur knew he didn’t. Knowing Merlin, he was probably at the tavern. Although there was one strange moment when Arthur actually did see Merlin where he looked like he was engaged in a knife fight with a chicken, but Arthur’s already added that to the list of things he’s not going to question. With all these thoughts of ghost dragons and hellish hippogriffs and backstabbing chickens, Arthur isn’t in much of a joking mood and spends the ride ignoring the playful knights’ conversations.

By that evening, a long day of riding and lots of complaints from Merlin later, they arrive in the valley where the hippogriff had been frequently spotted. It’s almost dark and they still, but they still have a few hours to the nearest village. He had wanted to reach the safety of the village by nightfall, but they are not going to make it. Looks like they are going to have to spend the night in a forest known to contain a hippogriff. Just great. He’s definitely going to be able to sleep tonight.

If it weren’t for the foolishness and comradery of his friends to distract him, he probably wouldn’t have fallen asleep. Yet, as he opens his eyes and notices the absence of the warm fire, he realizes he did. It’s late into the night, which means Mordred should be on watch once Leon woke him up. Leon is lying a few feet away, snoring quietly, but in the darkness, he can’t make out Mordred’s figure. A pit forms in his stomach. As the youngest among them, Arthur’s always been a little extra protective of Mordred, and the idea of him injured makes him feel sick. Surely his young knight is around here somewhere. He wouldn’t have left. Maybe he just went to relieve himself. Any minute the sounds of Mordred tromping through the underbrush should signal his return. Any minute now.

As he strains to listen, Arthur realizes just how quiet the clearing has become. There are no sounds of nocturnal creatures scurrying about or insects chirping in the cool nights. It’s silent.

A piercing screech breaks the silence. Its followed by the metallic ringing of swords being unsheathed as all the remaining knights spring to their feet and assume defensive positions around their king. The screech is so primal that it feels like it pierced his soul. It's something so wrong and unholy that it makes him feel uncomfortable in his own skin. He can feel his every instinct telling him to run, but he’s paralyzed by the sense of dread that has settled in the bottom of his gut.

“What the bloody hell was that?” A dark silhouette with very messed up hair, who must be Gwaine, asks.

No one knows, so no one answers. They all stand unmoving, listening for any more noise to indicate an incoming threat. After a few minutes of tense silence, another ungodly screech comes rings through the forest.

“Sire, do you think that might be hippogriff?”

Arthur has no idea. He probably should have been paying attention this morning when Gaius described the creature, but he was too busy lamenting his loss of sleep. Now this blasted hippogriff has taken even more sleep from him. All the knights are now wide awake, so they might as well investigate for the source of the sound.

“Most likely, let's follow it.”

Percival leads the way, carving a path through the underbrush. Occasional screams and squawks are heard as they walk, but none as loud or terrifying as the first. The forest starts to thin, so the knights spread out. Arthur signals for them to pause before entering an upcoming clearing, but the command was unnecessary. They’ve already all stilled at the sight before them, preparing for a possible ambush. In the clearing stands three cloaked figures looking up along the cliff that borders the clearing’s order side. Following the figures’ eyes upward, Arthur takes in the sight of a gray creature with the head of an eagle, the tail of a horse, and big magnificent wings. _Ah, so that’s a hippogriff_. The creature sits regally perched on a tree growing horizontally out of the cliff wall. From its position, it's swatting with one of its claws at the cloaked figures as if they were annoying insects. It must not like being woken up in the middle of the might. Arthur can relate.

The tense stillness of his knights hiding in the bushes beside him brings his focus back to the danger of the current situation. Those three people are about to be attacked by the hippogriff. Why on earth are they provoking it?

Wait a minute. Three cloaked figures. Blue, red, and green cloaks. Could these three be the sorcerers from the magically revived fields?

The figure in green holds his hand out beside him, palm facing towards the ground, and chants words in some foreign language. Arthur can practically feel the magic radiating from the words. It feels warm and comfortable. Like he just ate a full meal and is relaxing by the fire. From the ground under the cloaked figure’s hand, a small sprout begins to grow. It continues to get larger until a full-grown apple tree sits in the middle of a clearing that was empty only seconds before.

Well, that confirms it. These are sorcerers.

From his right, Leon gives him a questioning glance. Arthur pretends not to notice, so he doesn’t have to decide whether or not to arrest them. Even if his knights can defeat the sorcerers, there is still the hippogriff to deal with. He keeps his attention firmly on the scene in front of him. Curiosity winning over his distrust of magic. Why are these sorcerers here?

Oh no, what if they brought the hippogriff here? What if they are using it to attack villages? What if they are working for Morgana, and this is some secret plot to take over Camelot? What if…

Arthur is interrupted by his spiraling train of ‘what ifs’ by the three sorcerers bickering.

“My dear, what did you hope to gain by growing an apple tree?” A feminine voice asks a little sharply. The impatience in her tone clearly indicated they had been out here a while, and she was getting frustrated.

“I read that hippogriffs like apples. Do you have a better idea, Gana?” The green sorcerer responds.

“Can you try to lure it down here with the apple, Redmord? I need to touch the hippogriff for the compulsion spell to work,” The blue sorcerer asks, still looking up at the hippogriff and not paying attention to the glares the other two are sending each other.

“Don’t call me that,” The green sorcerer growls.

“Well, you wouldn’t let us call you “little druid boy,” so that’s what you get-Oh don’t give me that. You know you can’t properly concentrate on your spells if you’re also trying to use mind speak,” The feminine voice from the red sorceress, called Gana apparently, argues.

“I can concentrate fine. It's you two who need to work on it,” Redmord retorts bitterly.

“Enough. Can we argue this later? With all your bickering, you’ve probably woken up the knights.” The blue one chastises. The other two have the decency to look a little guilty.

If Arthur and the knights could go any stiller, they would have. Not a single one of them dared take a breath. These sorcerers knew they were here. What were they planning?

“Fine, Emrys. What do you need me to do?” Gana relents.

“The hippogriff has an egg. I can sense it. While Redmord lures her down and distracts her with the apples, I need you to sneak up and grab the egg so we can send it with her to the Griff Cliffs.” At Emrys’ instructions. The red sorceress begins climbing up the cliff face to reach the nest. The green sorcerer waves around the apples and convinces the hippogriff to land on the ground and take one from his hand. Once the creature trusts that the sorcerers mean no harm, it allows the blue one to approach and place his hand on its shoulder. He begins chanting a long string of magical words as his eyes glow gold. He completes the spell just as the red sorceress returns, holding a spotted egg.

Arthur’s just witnessed the sorcerer place a command on the hippogriff. This is bad. What if he commanded it to go kill him and his knights? What if he told it to attack Camelot? What if he asked it to go get other creatures to help it attack Camelot? What if…

His internal frenzy of worse case scenarios is cut off by the hippogriff abruptly turning, gently grabbing the egg in its beak, and swiftly flying off into the night. And just like that, the creature is gone.

“Mission accomplished,” The blue sorcerer chimes, a little out of breath.

“Emrys, can you call Aithusa back. I’d like to get as far away from the knights as soon as possible.”

With the hippogriff gone, Arthur’s confidence miraculously returns. He is about to order his knights to ambush and arrest the sorcerers when the sound of large wings flapping gives him pause. For a second, he holds onto hope that it’s just the hippogriff returning. This glimmer of hope is quickly squashed when a white dragon, roughly a little larger than a horse, lands in the clearing beside the sorcerers. It’s the ghost dragon from Redthorn. He was just starting to let himself believe it wasn’t real.

“Aithusa, let’s get out of here, my darling,” The red sorceress tells the dragon as she climbs aboard it’s back. The other two remain on the ground but back up to give the dragon more room as she leaps back into the sky.

Now there are only two sorcerers left in the clearing. The knights now have much better odds. Unfortunately, they are walking straight towards the bushes behind which Arthur and his knights are hiding behind. Arthur doesn’t know why he is hesitating. They used magic. He should arrest them. Unable to stay quiet any longer, Gwaine finally asks, “What do you want us to do, Princess?”

Seeing no other option, Arthur steels himself against the tingling of fear in the back of his mind reminding him these sorcerers have control over two gigantic and dangerous magical creatures and steps out into the clearing.

“Halt, who are you?” Arthur says using his most kingly and commanding voice. Merlin always makes fun of him for it. Speaking of Merlin, Arthur doesn’t remember seeing him join the knights when leaving the camp. _Oh, Gods_. He now remembers Mordred was missing too. And now he doesn’t know where Merlin is or even if he was ever with them.

The two sorcerers freeze. Neither one daring to take a breath. Clearly, they weren’t expecting company. It doesn’t escape Arthur’s notice that they seem more afraid of him than they were of two monstrous magical creatures.

“Where are Merlin and Mordred?” Gwaine growls. Ok, so at least Arthur’s not the only one who noticed they were missing.

“Reveal yourselves, sorcerers,” Leon commands.

“What did you do to the hippogriff?” Percival pipes up. More curiosity in his voice than an accusation.

“Whoa, whoa. What is this, twenty questions?” The blue one asks, raising his hands in a placating gesture. Upon realizing what he said, he instantly snaps his mouth shut and looks to the green sorcerer. The green sorcerer gives a little shake of his head, so the blue one continues talking. “You may call me Emrys, and this is Redmord,” signaling to himself and the green sorcerer. At the introduction, the green sorcerer’s shoulders drop in defeat.

For a moment, it doesn’t seem like he is going to say anymore. Both groups just stand there, the knights pointing their swords at the two sorcerers. Finally, after seeming to have collected his thoughts, Emrys continues. “We sent the hippogriff to a sanctuary for magical creatures where it will be able to live in peace far from any humans. It’s not a threat.”

“And are you? A threat?” Arthur doesn’t know why he’s even asking. Magic can only be used for evil, so these sorcerers must have nefarious intentions. Their answer won’t change what he already knows about magic.

“No, we’re not. We are loyal to Camelot,” Emrys answers earnestly, and for some reason, Arthur believes him. Maybe it’s because they have not attacked him and his knights yet. Maybe it’s because they sent the hippogriff away. Maybe he’s just optimistic because they have a freaking dragon on their side and could be a serious threat to Camelot. But, it’s probably the total conviction he hears in the sorcerer’s voice that leaves no room for doubt.

“Then what happened to Merlin and Mordred?” Gwaine growls again. Oh right, they’re still missing.

This time, Redmord answers, “Umm… they heard us approaching.” Gwaine tightens his grip on his sword, his face becoming even stonier. Percival tenses too. Mordred’s become like a little brother to him since he was knighted. Gwaine and Percival are both extremely protective their adopted little brothers, and Arthur fears for anyone who gets in between them. “We didn’t hurt them.” The sorcerer quickly adds, probably realizing he could get run through soon. “We just… left them by the stream. Yes, we put them to sleep using a harmless spell so that they wouldn’t scare the hippogriff away. They’ll wake up when we leave.”

“Magic is illegal in Camelot. You are under arrest. You won’t be leaving. Release your spell on them now.” Leon barks at them.

Arthur’s faced with a dilemma. If he arrests the sorcerer’s Merlin and Mordred might be stuck asleep, but if he lets them go, he’s going against his own laws on magic. However, thinking back to Emrys’ answer earlier and his care for his friends. It’s really not a choice.

“Leon, they did a service for Camelot today. As long as they promise to release their spell on Merlin and Mordred, I shall allow them to leave,” he tells his First Knight, who looks a little relieved at his decision. Turning back to the sorcerers, he continues, “However, magic is still illegal in Camelot, do not practice in this kingdom again. If you are caught, you will be arrested and tried for your crimes?”

“Great, then we’ll just be going,” and instantly, the two sorcerers disappear into a whirlwind of leaves.

Without a word, all the knights turn and begin running through the forest towards the stream. Arthur prays Merlin and Mordred are alright and that the sorcerers were true to their word.

At last, they reach the stream to find a very disheveled looking Merlin and Mordred standing by the water. Merlin’s hair is sticking in all directions and filled with so many leaves one could mistake him for a tree. Mordred looks no better; his chainmail is slightly askew like he put it on in a hurry, and he is holding some sort of dark cloth behind his back. Arthur is too relieved to really question their suspicious behavior and chocks it up to the sorcerer’s spell. Percival bounds up to Mordred and checks him over from head to toe, fixing his armor and hair. As he does, Mordred chucks whatever was behind his back into a bush. Percival says nothing but his relived smile tells them everything. Next to him, Gwaine sprints straight to Merlin and nearly knocks him over while attempting to give him a hug. He then begins pulling leaves out of Merlin’s hair. Once all the knights are satisfied with the safety of their two missing members, they make their way back to camp. With no one able to sleep, Gwaine and Elyan begin filling Merlin and Mordred in on everything that happened with the hippogriff. Even listening to the story again, Arthur still can’t make sense of the Emrys’ declaration of loyalty.

He spends a while thinking it over before Merlin plops down beside him and warns, “Don’t hurt yourself,” to which Arthur cuffs him around the head. Gently, of course, who knows if he’s totally recovered from the spell. “Do you believe him?” He asks, once again being able to read Arthur perfectly.

“He said he was loyal to Camelot, but why would a sorcerer ever want to protect Camelot.”

“Maybe he sees the good king you are and believes in the great king you will become.”

“But magic is banned in Camelot. Under penalty of death, no less!”

“Yes, I’m aware,” but his proud tone from earlier is gone, replaced with something heavier. It’s gone before Arthur can figure out what it is as Merlin continues, “but I do believe you will be a great king, remembered in legends for generations to come, the Once and Future King. I’m sure the sorcerers must believe the same.”

Merlin leaves Arthur with those words, as he quickly gets up to add more wood to the fire. Arthur long ago realized he never would figure Merlin out. Sometimes he acts like a bumbling idiot, and others like the wisest man in the room.

He could figure Merlin out later. Tonight, his mind is stuck on trying to rationalize the cloaked sorcerers he met with the corruptive, evil nature of magic he’s grown up learning about. Is it truly as bad as his father always said?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You're gonna have to wait a little longer for a reveal! I had originally played around with this as the idea for the reveal but I also wanted to include a close call for Merlin and Mordred so this is what came out of it. The next chapter will see Arthur trying to answer some of those questions he keeps asking himself.


	5. Moving On

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur realizes something with Leon's help

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I am sorry it took me so long to write this. Sorry it's a little shorter than usual.

“Rise and shine, lazy daisy!”

Arthur groaned. Shoving his pillow over his face in an attempt to block out the annoying voice coming from beside his bed. He was absolutely not planning on getting out of bed today. Nope, not at all. He was king, and his word goes. Unfortunately, the person belonging to the annoying voice chirping happily about how beautiful the sun is this morning (seriously, it’s the same sun every day) has a bad habit of not caring whatsoever about the respect his title should bring.

As king, if he wanted to sit in bed and pout, then so be it. Merlin’s blabber beside him about all the important things he needed to do today just made him put on an even bigger pout beneath the pillow over his face. Wait, when did Merlin become the responsible one and him the child?

He was disrupted from further wallowing by a hand grabbing his left arm and dragging him off the bed. He was only shifted a few inches because he purposely made himself as heavy as a rock (no, he is absolutely not fat). The stubborn mule of a manservant next to him switched tactics and yanked his covers off him. He let out a very unkingly squeak and chucked the pillow at Merlin’s head.

“Finally, you’re up. You can’t rule the kingdom from your bed,” Merlin chastised, putting on one of his goofiest grins and turning to set out Arthur’s clothes for the day. How can he be this cheery so early in the morning? Perhaps if Arthur hadn’t already been trying to decipher the secret to his friend’s wakefulness, he might not have noticed the dark circles under his eyes and the way he was moving very slowly. Huh. So, he’s faking it. That’s an interesting side note to add to the list of things he doesn’t question too closely. Merlin will tell him when he feels like it. Merlin trusts him, right?

Arthur shakes his head to refocus on being grumpy about having to get up today. There is one very simple reason he wants to stay in bed, ignore all his duties, and not see anyone today.

It’s Thursday.

Ah, Thursday. The current bane of Arthur’s existence. Even though Merlin already gave him a detailed list of his schedule for the day, he already knows nothing will get done, and he’ll just have to listen to nobles complain for the whole day. He might as well just spend the day resting and relaxing. Sadly, Arthur knows that even if he does lock himself in his chambers, someone will come get him to solve an emergency.

Why? Because it’s Thursday.

Thoroughly defeated by his own train of thought, Arthur begins putting on the clothes Merlin has laid out for him. While Merlin helps him get dressed, he doesn’t quip or banter with Arthur like usual. Instead, he just looks tired and seems to have even less hand-eye coordination than usual. Maybe he didn’t sleep well the night before, he muses. After Merlin fumbles with the same button for the third time, Arthur’s had enough.

“Merlin, what is wrong with you today? Your even clumsier than usual, and you look exhausted” Arthur tried to adopt the tone of his usual banter, but his worry for his friend seeped through. “Did you spend the whole night in the tavern?” he quickly added to make sure it didn’t sound too much like he cared.

“No…” Merlin huffed. “I was just busy” Busy, what does Merlin have to be busy with all night? “with stuff for Gaius,” he added upon seeing the unconvinced look on the king’s face.

“…with stuff for Gaius? Merlin, what does Gaius need you to do at night that can’t be done during the day?” Uh oh, he was doing it. He was asking about something that clearly should belong on the don’t question to closely list.

“Some herbs are better when they are collected at night,” Merlin explained, not looking Arthur in the eye and choosing instead to stare at the button that continued to best him.

So, Merlin was collecting herbs … in the middle of the night…. Yeah, sure, that checks out. Arthur dropped all further questioning and instead chose to shuffle this whole incident onto the don’t question to closely list. It’s better this way. Now he can be completely miserable about it being Thursday without also worrying about Merlin.

“Take the day off. Rest. You won’t be able to do anything productive in your current state.”

Merlin's eyes finally met Arthur’s. In them, Merlin had the most awe-inspired look on his face. Like Arthur had just saved a town full of children from a dragon. (Which he failed to do and was still bitter about even if the said dragon didn’t hurt said children). Merlin’s face beamed with a look so full of pride and gratitude that it almost made Arthur want to wrap him in a hug. Almost.

Merlin practically skipped out of the room. Arthur followed a few minutes after, stopping a moment at the door to compose himself for the chaos that awaited him just outside. 

He had barely walked ten steps down the hall when Leon shuffled up to him.

“Sire-”

“What happened now, Leon?”

Leon _sighed_. Even his first knight couldn’t keep his exasperation in check. These last few Thursdays had been hard on everyone. Each one having its own mini-crisis that resulted in a lot of talking and not a whole lot of action.

“On the final leg of their journey to Camelot, Lord Delou’s party was attacked by bandits. Their camp was surrounded, but no one was injured. He claims that last night three sorcerers defeated the bandits and protected his party. He arrived safely to Camelot this morning and hasn’t stopped sharing his story with the nobility. He’s now adamant that magic isn’t evil.”

And there it was. The phrase he had been waiting for. _Last night three sorcerers…_ Each Thursday morning for the past four weeks, Leon would greet him with a similar report. Each Wednesday night, three sorcerers would miraculously save the people of Camelot.

The first Thursday (or should he say the first Thursday he heard about them because he suspects this has been going on for a while) was when a plague passed through Camelot, killing many of the elderly. After three hooded figures were seen entering the granary, late on Wednesday night, the plague disappeared.

The second time, the sorcerers had rid an outlying village of ghosts that were living in and attacking people’s homes. Gaius had called them poltergeists, and from his shudder at the word, he was glad he didn’t have to send knights to deal with them.

The third time a strange report came, he was never able to figure out what the threat had been, but three sorcerers kidnapped all of the cats in Camelot on Wednesday night, only to return them at midday on Thursday. Arthur's ears still ring from Lady Delphi screaming about her Sir Mittens being taken from her.

The fourth time, however, the threat was obviously a giant griffin that attacked the citadel. As expected, it disappeared on Wednesday night. Glimpses of cloaked figures retreating into the shadows were the only indication of the heroes responsible for saving Camelot.

Heroes? That can’t be right. Sorcerers use magic. They can’t be heroes. Can they?

Arthur’s head hurt, and from Leon’s resigned expression, his did too. The actions of these sorcerers simply contradicted everything the two of them had been taught growing up in Camelot. Even if he humored the idea that magic could be used for good. Why would these sorcerers even want to protect a kingdom that would execute them?

Way before he was ready to face all of the questions which he simply cannot answer, he was in from of the doors to the council chamber. Even though the thick wooden door, he can hear the many overlapping and arguing voices from inside. Among them are unmistakable and high-pitched exclamations from a now pro-magic Lord Delou and grumbling complaints that the sorcerers are taking all his fun from Gwaine.

Arthur held grabbed Leon’s wrist as he was reaching out to open the door. Leon dropped his hand and gave Arthur a look of questioning but also understanding, “My Lord?..”

“Leon, I need you, to be honest with me. I will not fault you for anything you say, but I need your honest opinion as my friend and trusted advisor. Can you promise me that?”

“Of course, Arthur” Leon dropped the title. Unlike the other knights, who added Arthur’s title when they were serious, Leon dropped it. It was a sign that Leon was going to answer honestly as himself rather than simply as the first knight.

“What do you think about magic?”

Leon opened his mouth but then promptly closing it again. He took a minute to fully think about his response. The events of the last few weeks had given them all something to think about. And, whether he knows it or not, the future of the kingdom is resting on his response. No pressure. Once he’s collected his thoughts, Leon takes a deep breath in, meets Arthur’s eyes, and answers, “I think we both grew up seeing examples of the harm magic can cause, but now we have examples of the good it can do as well. That raises the question, is it good or evil? What if it is neither? The thought terrifies me. It’s kept me awake many nights these past few weeks. I don’t want to think that my actions during the Purge hurt innocents, but I would be blind to deny the evidence.”

“You think my father was wrong about magic?”

“Uther was a great king in many ways, but unlike you, Arthur, he never challenged his own beliefs. Forget about Uther. His time is past, be the great king – the great person – you can be” And with that, Leon opened the door to the council chambers, exposing a stunned Arthur to a rush of loud voices all barely distinguishable from each other in the chaos.

A split second later, Arthur strides into the room confidently. Swiftly taking his seat as the room quiets, waiting to hear what actions he will take to keep the kingdom safe from magic. The King holds himself up high, adopting his kingly face, which Merlin mocks him for. Before he can change his mind, before he can feel ashamed of his father, before he is overwhelmed thinking about the consequences his next words will have, he announces to the court,

“I am going to lift the ban on magic.”

A deadly silence fills the room. Everyone stares at the king, unblinking until they all erupt into a chorus of praises, questions, and doubts. Lord Delou gives him a satisfied smile, Percival claps him on the back, Leon gives him a knowing nod, Gwen squeezes his hand and gives him a confused but relieved look, and Mordred pales and looks to be on the verge of tears. The old stuffy nobles bristle with their barely contained outrage. He knows he’ll have to deal with them later, but right now, surrounded by the support of his closest friends, he hopes, he prays that he isn’t wrong. Maybe this will even be a prosperous new age for Camelot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hehe Leon's been taking lessons from Kilgarah in being cryptic obviously. 
> 
> I don't know when the next one will be out but it shouldn't take as long as this one did. Also genuinely have no idea how many chapters this will have but right now I'm thinking no less than 10.


	6. Merriment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin, Mordred, and Morgana celebrate!

"I can’t believe I missed it”

“Oh, stop wallowing,” Morgana snapped without any real bite.

“I mean seriously! I spend every day with the idiot, but the one time Arthur gives me a day off, he chooses to repeal the ban on magic. That’s a moment that will go down in history as the start of the Golden Age of Camelot, and I missed it! Unbelievable!” Merlin whinnied, throwing his hands up in the air to accentuate his point and maybe squeeze a bit of pity out of his two companions. Tonight, they gathered in their regular clearing even though it was a Thursday night. Celebrating the repeal of the ban on magic just couldn’t wait a week for their usual meeting time.

“Oh please, as if you’re ever awake during the council meetings. You would have slept through the announcement even if you were there.” Mordred teases, getting doused with freezing water in return.

With a flash of gold in her eyes that sent a blast of warm air in his direction, Morgana quickly dried Mordred off. The rush of hot air was just a bit too forceful and ended up knocking Mordred off the log he was seated on with an undignified squeak and a strangled “gana!”

“Careful, Mordred dear. You’re acting tipsy, and we haven’t even cracked open the wine yet,” Morgana said as she reached over for the first wineskin. Merlin reached for his, popped open the cap, but paused at a familiar smell.

“Morgana is this wine from the royal cellar” Merlin questioned with a raised brow. The eyebrow from doom he inherited from Gaius made him look disapproving, but the small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth betrayed his amusement.

“What my bother doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Morgana responded with a sly smirk. “And if it does, all the better” She grabbed another wineskin and shoved it at Mordred, who refused to take it. “Come on, it won’t bite,” she urged.

Reluctantly, he took the wineskin and carefully uncorked it, acting as if it would indeed bite. “How did you even get this much? There are at least 10 cases here. You can’t possibly expect us to drink this much!”

“Hold on, at least three cases are for Aithusa. She deserves to celebrate as much as we do, and she has a much higher tolerance.” The white dragon had already broken into her first case and was drinking away happily while partly curled around Morgana and letting the fire warm her tail. When she heard her name, she jerked up, happily smiling at them even though her muzzle was covered in wine, giving her teeth a horrifying red tint.

“That’s still 7 cases!”

“I would like to propose a toast,” Morgana interrupted Mordred’s disbelieving squawks, “It was my idea to make our actions visible to the public, so clearly, this is all my doing.” 

“What-“

“Hey, that’s not true-“

“It is too true! I am to thank for bringing magic back to Camelot. Maybe to repay me, you should crown me Queen.”

“Not funny, Morgana.”

“All Hail Queen Morgana of the Meeting Meadow,” Mordred replied cheekily. That earned him another dousing with cold water.

“Eh, worth a try. Besides, I know Gwen is more than capable of running the kingdom without Arthur ruining it first.” Morgana conceded, a smile never leaving her lips. She might not be able to entertain herself by manipulating and teasing the nobles of the court anymore, but she could still get a kick out of messing with her friends.

_Friends._ The word filled her with an unfamiliar warmth in her heart. For the first time, she felt she truly has best friends. Gwen was always her friend, but she had to hide such a big part of herself from her that it would be unfair to think of Gwen as her best friend when Morgana always had to keep her at arm’s length. But, these two idiots in front of her were the real deal. They had come such a long way and overcome so many downfalls and betrayals that they would never abandon each other, not anymore. They could tease each other about their past mistakes like they were water under the bridge. They had all betrayed each other at one point, but if anything, they were united by this commonality. The three of them shared something none of the others could understand, their magic. It made them outcasts, but in each other, they found community. And at long last, they were free.

Now all that’s left is to get utterly sloshed.

Snapping herself out of her thoughts, Morgana returned her attention to her wineskin, downing half of it in one go. Beside her, Mordred watched wide-eyed, letting out a breathless little “Oh no,” followed by a muttered “training’s going to be awful tomorrow” before he joined her in chugging back his drink.

A content silence filled the clearing; each one of them lost in their happiness and relief. Morgana waited until they were a few more drinks in before finally breaking the silence with the question no one dared ask,

“Are we going to tell them?”

No one needed any clarification as to what she was referring to. They needed to decide when and how to tell Arthur and the others about their magic.

Both of her companions stilled at her question. Even Aithusa lifted her head from where she was napping to pay attention to the conversation that had turned the atmosphere so tense. Morgana wanted it to be out in the open. She wanted to be recognized for the good that she had done with her magic. She would even consider apologizing to Arthur on her knees if it meant she could live a semi-normal life. There was nothing to stop Morgana from declaring her role in protecting Camelot. She has nothing to lose.

However, Merlin and Mordred have everything to lose. Both of them were pointedly looking at their feet, either trying to think through how they would do it or to avoid disappointing her. Unfortunately, she was pretty sure they had already come to a decision. So, when Merlin answered, she wasn’t surprised.

“It isn’t the right time.” He whispered. He sounded so defeated in the wake of her celebrations that she wanted to slap him and remind him they were meant to be celebrating.

At Mordred’s nod, she held back. They both had built lives for themselves. Lives that didn’t involve them having magic. Even though they were avoiding her gaze, by the tightness of their jaws and the stiff hunch of their shoulders, she could tell they were terrified. If they revealed themselves now, their entire lives could be upturned in ways they simply can’t predict. Their friends might betray their own words and cast them out for their lies and self-preservation. Even worse, their friends could see it as a betrayal. As three people more familiar with betrayal than was remotely healthy, this is certainly the most terrifying possibility. ‘Possibility’ is being optimistic; it was almost a certainty. Magic might be allowed now, but it still wouldn’t be accepted yet.

Reluctantly, Morgana understood. She didn’t like it. She just wanted to be free. But she understood. Her return to normal life could wait a little longer until her friends are ready because she’d be damned if she wasn’t there for her first and only best friends when they clearly needed her to be. So, with a disappointed understanding and the patience not to push, she gently answered, “Ok.”

After a whole new case of wine was finished, the mood finally returned to one full of giddy celebration, only with slightly more drunken ramblings than before. They danced, they sang, they braided flowers in each other’s hair, Mordred might have drunkenly married a wood nymph, but overall, they reveled in each moment of unbridled joy at knowing the future they dreamed about was finally here.

Morgana woke first to the breaking dawn, stretching against Aithusa, who she had conveniently used as a pillow. She always had been better at holding her alcohol than the boys who were currently passed out in the grass on top of each other. They hadn’t meant to stay out here this long, usually returning to Camelot before dawn, but she couldn’t bring herself to wake them. They looked so peaceful and at ease. She just couldn’t ruin that for them by sending them back to Camelot, where they would both have to contain their magic and their joy once again. She would wait for them to be ready to leave the freedom of the meadow in their own time. Today all of Camelot could wait for them. They deserved that, at least. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay, a nice fun chapter with Merlin, Mordred, and Morgana partying now that they are finally free. I tried to justify why they don’t tell the others about their magic right away and especially why Morgana is willing to wait even though she literally has nothing to lose. 
> 
> I know this isn't my best chapter, but I just wanted to get it done so I could move on to the next part of the story. 
> 
> I already have the next two chapters written, so once I finish editing them they should come out pretty soon. Get ready because this fic is about to double in length.


	7. Missing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and the aftermath of lifting the ban.

Lifting the ban on magic was a little more complicated than Arthur expected. Apparently, he can’t just make a decree to end a 20-year war against magic and then avoid the council for the rest of the day.

Doesn’t mean he didn’t try.

His first task was removing the death penalty. That alone was simple enough. The hard part came in crafting laws to regulate the use of magic to prevent it from being used maliciously. If only there was someone who could advise him on magic. He’d tried asking Gaius, but it’s been many years since he last practiced, and he already has his duties as court physician to deal with. Recently, the old physician had been busy day and night caring for a patrol that came back from the western border severely injured. It would be cruel to overwhelm him with even more duties when he is barely sleeping as it is. In fact, Arthur’s pretty sure the only time Gaius has been sleeping is during the council sessions which he’s overheard some servants humorously refer to as the castle’s nap time.

No, he needed to find someone else.

The obvious choice would be to contact the three cloaked sorcerers that have been protecting the kingdom. Unfortunately, they are harder to find than Percival’s sleeves. 

That leaves the only other sorcerer Arthur has met, Dragoon the Great. After realizing how much he doesn’t know about magic, Arthur’s willing to maybe believe that sorcerer didn’t kill his father. At breakfast yesterday, Arthur asked Merlin where he could find the eccentric old man since he’d found him before. At the question, Merlin promptly choked on a grape he was stealing from Arthur’s plate and ran out of the room in a laughing and coughing fit. Great, so there goes that option.

For now, the ban is lifted. Arthur’s not satisfied with the lack of specific laws, like those to forbid certain types of necromancy, which absolutely terrify him but will deny it to his dying breath, but so far, the penalty is given for the crime committed and not for the way it was committed. Hopefully, more magic users will comfortable enough to reveal themselves and help the king adjust the laws as necessary.

It’s almost time for today’s council meeting. He’s anxious to hear the report from the western patrol, given the grievous condition they returned in. This meeting is also important to finalize the detail for the peace summit with the Druids this week. Finally, they will be welcomed into Camelot with open arms. Guinevere has been driving herself crazy these past few days, trying to make sure every detail of the celebration is perfect, and knowing his wife, it will be.

Arthur gets up from his desk where he was proofreading the treaty with the Druids that will ensure their protection for generations to come. His forgetful manservant is, of course, nowhere to be found, so he has to grab his formal coat all by himself—the horror.

He heads to the council chambers, where he can see his wife about to enter. Clearly, she was working on the floral arrangements for the celebration since there are still small purple flowers stuck in her hair. Arthur calls her name, stopping her from entering.

“Arthur! I’ve just finished picking out the flowers for the summit. Lyla did a wonderful job with the colors, and Mr. Gosel even supplied some of the lilies from his own garden. Oh, I’m just so excited. I want everything to be perfect.” Guinevere beamed at him.

“Yes, I can see that,” teased Arthur, lovingly picking the small flowers out of her hair. Guinevere blushed and took the flowers from him, placing them in the seams of her dress. “Ready, my love,” Arthur asked, holding out his arm for her to grab. Guinevere took it, and together they walked into the council chamber.

Upon their arrival, everyone settled into their seats. Merlin and Mordred showed up late. Merlin unashamedly walked into the room, picked up a pitcher, and casually took his place behind the King. Mordred turned bright red when he saw everyone was already seated and quickly shuffled over to his seat while pointedly avoiding eye contact. Merlin and Mordred have clearly been spending too much time together if his manservant’s tardiness is rubbing off on the young knight. Merlin and Mordred exchanged a meaningful glance. Darn it. He forgot to move Mordred’s seat to be further away. Hopefully, the young knight’s admiration of Percival will counteract whatever bad habits Merlin’s been teaching him.

Leon stood up from his seat to give the report from the western patrol. At seeing a frown breaking through the first knight's usually stoic expression, Arthur prepared himself for the worst.

“The patrol from the western border returned last night severely wounded. One knight sustained fatal injuries, three more have broken bones, and the rest were wounded with cuts and bruises. This occurred when they were leaving the border village of Gallo and headed east towards the village of Ornica. In Gallo, they received reports of two villagers being kidnapped. One of these villagers was known to have magic. When they left the village, they were attacked by a group of heavily armed men. The patrol was injured and took an extra day to arrive in Ornica. When they did, they discovered that three more villagers were missing from Ornica, two of which were known to have magic. On their return to Camelot, they passed through the town of Everek and Ragart. Ragart also reported one villager missing. Sire, I believe we are dealing with slavers. Particularly, slavers who are kidnapping sorcerers.” Leon finished his report and sat back down, leaving the room in an unnatural silence.

Arthur couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Magic users were being attacked. Arthur had spent so long fighting sorcerers that it never occurred to him that they would need protection as well. After 20 years, he finally tries to make the kingdom a place where all its citizens are free and safe, but then he can’t even protect them.

He was going to make those slavers pay. All his thoughts are instantly consumed by the single desire to bring to justice the barbarians who would dare threaten his people. Just as he starts to jump up and bark out orders for his knights to join him on a quest, a gentle hand rests on his arm, pinning him in place.

Guinevere meets his eyes will a look full of compassion and understanding; it’s like she can read his mind. Maybe she secretly has magic to do so. He shakes the thought away. No, she just knows him so well she doesn’t need to.

As much as he wants to, as much as the rage burns inside him, as much as he wants nothing more than to eradicate those vile slavers from his kingdom. He can’t abandon the summit with the Druids after they have waited 20 years for their freedom. So, as much as it pains him, he orders a two large patrol, equipped with his best men, to bring the slavers to justice. He adds explicit orders to escort the captured villagers back to their homes. Gwaine and Kay will lead one patrol, while Leon and Elyan will lead the second. He has faith that the men he considers brother will not fail him. And, worse case, he trusts they will protect any magic users from the prejudice of some of his own knights.

The fierce anger he felt for those kidnapped doesn’t abate throughout the rest of the meeting. He can barely pay attention as the council discusses preparations for the feast and fun activities for the summit. Fortunately, Guinevere, his angel, takes care of these questions for him while he sits distractedly planning all the ways he is going to shred the practice dummies during training later.

***

Arthur stands on the steps at sunrise, watching the two patrols leave for the western border. With any luck, they will be back before the end of the summit, and Arthur will be able to prove to the Druids that Camelot will protect them.

The Druids should be arriving in a few hours. That gives him time to get in one last training session before the coming week's food and festivities. Despite what his pesky manservant might say, he is not fat and is very determined to stay not fat.

There is one slight problem; he can’t find Merlin anywhere. He’s not in his chambers. He is not in the armory. He is not in the stables. Even just shouting Merlin all throughout the castle didn’t seem to work. Finally, Arthur gives in. As much as he doesn’t want to face the eyebrow of Doom, which he is certain to receive if he disturbs Gaius’ work, he heads to the physician’s chambers.

He knocks on the door, and Gaius beckons him in.

“Gaius, have you seen Merlin today?”

“No, Sire, and I gather you haven’t either by the way you're shouting his name all throughout the castle.”

Arthur opens his mouth to ask his next question, but all his thoughts are instantly derailed. Did Gaius just make fun of him? Oh no, he better not be possessed by a goblin again. Carefully, Arthur continues, this time on extra alert to look for any gobliny behavior. He would rather not spend the first ever peace summit with the Druids looking like a half donkey.

“Do you know where he is?”

Gaius lets out a big sigh and puts down the vial he was holding. Ok, good, so not a goblin, just upset with Merlin. This is much more manageable. Oh darn it, this probably means Merlin is in the tavern. That idiot! Doesn’t he know how important this week is.

“He left this morning to visit his mother in Ealdor,” Gaius replies curtly.

“WHAT” Arthur screeched. “This week is the summit with the Druids. How could the idiot leave? This is no time for him to be taking a vacation!” 

“I know, Sire. I don’t think he should have left either, but … his mother is very ill, and he needed to return to her.” Gaius elaborated calmly, like trying to soothe a wild animal but also not daring to make eye contact as he spoke.

Arthur sighed and looked up to the ceiling and releasing a heaving _why me_ sigh. He couldn’t really be mad at Merlin for leaving to take care of his mother. He would do the same if someone he loved needed his help. It just stings a little that Merlin wouldn’t at least tell him he’s leaving. Arthur could’ve at least sent a knight with him. Especially now that there are slavers in the woods, it's extremely dangerous for that idiot to be traveling alone.

And worse of all. He’s going to have to deal with George.

This is going to be a long week.

***

The summit ends up being a complete success. The druids are truly wonderful people. And, best of all, they know how to throw a great party. He should’ve lifted the ban ages ago.

The week was packed with magical performances, explanations from the elders on types of magic, bountiful feasts, and nights spent dancing around the bonfire. By the end of it, Arthur’s ready to sleep for a month. From the look of dark spots under her eyes, Guinevere is too. As always, his beautiful wife doesn’t let her exhaustion stop her from giving each and every person a bright smile and asking about their day.

Arthur stands on the steps, with Guinevere on his one side and Percival on his other as they see the Druids off. The gentle knight’s previous experiences with the druids were incredibly helpful this past week. As much as Arthur could tell Percival wanted to be a part of the patrols sent to hunt down the slavers, Arthur needed him in Camelot. He was able to help explain some of the more intricate workings of druid customs so that Arthur didn’t make a complete fool of himself.

Of course, Percival’s knowledge only went so far, so he wasn’t able to warn Arthur against drinking the ceremonial water from the lake of Avalon, which for some reason was left in an inconspicuous looking goblet on his table. Seriously, how was he supposed to know the water contained the spirit of the lady of the lake? He only realized his mistake when an elderly woman fainted after seeing him take a sip, and a few more looked to be on the verge of tears. A slight overreaction if he’s ever seen one. Percival’s presence helped deescalate the situation in no time with a few apologies to the druid leaders and a promise to take Arthur to the lake to get them some more water. All week, his quiet puppy dog nature had the elderly druids flocking to him, which helped break some of their initial apprehension towards Camelot knights.

Now Percival stands up to his knees in gifts, which, considering Percival’s size, is a lot of gifts. As Druids' party organizes the last of their things before they depart, a Druid elder named Iseldir approaches them, with yet another gift for Percival in his hand.

“I believe your brother is looking for this. I wish to leave it with you as a gift for him.” Iseldir explains, holding out a small wrapped package towards Percival.

Percival doesn’t move to take the package, his face turning a ghostly pale. He drops his gaze, but Arthur can still see his eyes become glassy.

“My brother is dead. I am afraid I cannot give it to him.” Percival somberly replies, keeping his head bowed. It isn’t often the quiet knight talks about his family. As far as anyone knows, he lived in Essetir until raiders wiped out his entire village. Arthur wasn’t even aware he had a brother.

Iseldir gives a knowing smile and holds the package out further, gently saying, “Family is defined by more than just blood.”

Percival’s face lights up with understanding as he looks at the Druid gratefully and takes the package. “I will make sure he gets it,” he promises, giving an emotional smile.

Iseldir nods his thanks and turns his attention on Arthur.

“Thank you for welcoming us into Camelot, Sire. We have always had faith you would be a great king.”

The Druid's proclamation temporarily leaves him at a loss for words. It reminds him of the wistful pride he sometimes hears in Merlin’s voice when he encourages Arthur to trust himself. The weight of those words leaves him able to do nothing more than smile and extend his hand for Iseldir to shake. Iseldir takes his hand but leans in closer, adding, “The celebration has been wonderful, but I did hope to see Emrys during our visit.”

Arthur blurts out a strangled “who?” but Iseldir, seemingly done with the conversation, turns and directs the druids to move out, leaving a very confused Arthur standing on the steps in his wake.

“Who is Emrys?” Guinevere asks, looking expectantly to Arthur and Percival.

Arthur shrugs, but Percival looks up from studying the package he is holding delicately in his hand to give an explanation.

“Emrys is the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the earth. He is a legend to the Druids because he is prophesized to help bring about the Golden Age of Camelot along with the Once and Future King. The prophecies are sort of like bedtime stories for Druid children. During the Purge, the Druids looked to the stories for hope that they would eventually be freed from persecution.” Percival answered the Queen while gathering up as many of his gifts as he could and waving down some servants to help him carry the rest.

“If he’s from a children’s story, then why would Iseldir expect to meet Emrys here?”

“Wait,” Arthur held his hands up. He’d finally remembered something and just needs to finish putting the final puzzle piece into place. “Percival, remember when we went to hunt down the hippogriff, and we met those two sorcerers who stopped it first. Well, one of them said his name was Emrys.”

“Yes-”

“You what?” Oh right, he never told Guinevere the whole story. He didn’t want to worry her too much about the dangerous things he and his knights got up to. However, from the angry expression on her face, he’s probably the one who should be worried.

“One of the sorcerers who stopped the hippogriff said his name was Emrys,” Arthur carefully continues, “maybe he’s the one Iseldir was talking about.”

“Or he could just be pretending to be Emrys. After all, who wouldn’t want to be seen as the most powerful sorcerer in the world.” Percival added thoughtfully.

“Well,” and instantly, Guinevere’s anger dissipates, and she is back to focusing on the problem at hand. Arthur is under no illusions that her anger won’t resurface later so she can yell at him further. “What I am more concerned about is the fact that Iseldir expected to see him here in Camelot.”

“You think there is a hidden sorcerer in Camelot,” Arthur realizes. This knowledge hits him like a punch to the gut. There has been a sorcerer secretly living in Camelot. At one time, this information would have made him feel unsettled and angry, but now, he just feels like he’s failed. Failed to make Camelot a safe place for all its citizens. After all, the slavers are proof of that. The patrols have not returned, so he can only assume the slavers are still out there terrorizing magic users. Both inside and outside the city walls, his people are afraid to be themselves.

Guinevere voices these very thoughts, her tone full of concern and compassion. What can he do to make magic users finally feel safe and accepted? He already had a peace summit with the Druids, but clearly, that’s not enough. Great, more questions to keep him up at night.

The three of them retreat into the castle, Percival heading to his chambers with an army of gift carrying servants in tow and Arthur and Guinevere walking towards their chambers.

Arthur spends the rest of the day going over paperwork while trying to keep his mind off the secret sorcerer living in Camelot. Guinevere oversees the clean up after the celebration and ensures that life in the castle smoothly returns to normal. With all this work, Arthur isn’t able to see her until dinner, by which time he has abandoned his paperwork and spent a few hours pacing around his chambers. When Guinevere opens the door and enters the chambers, he can finally breathe again. He trusts that his wife, the kindest person in all of Camelot, will have some ideas on how to make magic users feel welcome. They sit down at the table; Arthur’s on the edge of his seat, about to ask her for her thoughts when a very disheveled Percival bursts through the door, making a loud bang as the door swings around and hits the wall.

Arthur reflexively reaches for his sword, ready to face a threat to his kingdom. Percival stands in the doorway, taking large gulping breaths as if he’s been running through the castle. In his hand, he’s tightly clutching something metallic. Arthur first assumed it to be a weapon of some sort, but at a closer look, he realizes its chainmail, so he sheaths his own sword.

“Percival, what’s going on?” Arthur demands, trying to keep his voice from wavering since he already knows he is not going to like the answer.

“It’s Mordred. He’s missing!” The giant shouts in the loudest voice anyone’s ever heard him use. Arthur swears he can feel the castle shudder at the force of the shout.

Arthur’s stomach drops; his appetite is suddenly completely gone. “What do you mean he’s missing? Where could he have gone?”

“The package Iseldir left me … I figured it was for Mordred … so I went to his room … but he wasn’t there. I asked some of the servants if they have seen him, but no one has for a whole week. They assumed he left with the patrol, but I know you didn’t send him. When I looked through his room, I found all his armor still there. The only thing missing is his sword.” Percival explained, still breathing heavily and holding up the chainmail for Arthur to see.

“Take me to his room,” Arthur orders. He followed Percival out the door, hoping the walk would give him some time to think.

Percival is right. Arthur didn’t send Mordred on the patrol to attack the slavers. Arthur’s always had a soft spot for the young knight and wanted to protect him from witnessing the horrors of slavery. Of course, with as much time as Mordred and Merlin and been spending together, he wouldn’t put it past the young knight to have picked up Merlin’s habit of ignoring orders and going off to help the knights anyway.

However, even if he had followed the patrol, he wouldn’t have left without his armor. Dread starts to sink in as Arthur realizes it's beginning to look like Mordred was taken. The only indication that he left willingly is that his sword is missing, but even then, someone could have stolen it.

When they finally enter Mordred’s room, Percival is now shaking either with grief or a protective rage. Given Iseldir’s words earlier, it’s probably a bit of both.

Arthur looks around the room, and sure enough, it in impeccable condition. It looks freshly cleaned by the servants besides the light layer of dust covering every surface. Arthur knows that Mordred never lets them do any of the chores he says he can do himself like all the other common-born knights, so he must have cleaned right before he left. 

“When did you say he was last seen?” Arthur whispers since the room feels more like a mausoleum than a living space, and it feels wrong to talk at normal volume.

“A week”

_A week_. A whole week. Mordred’s been missing since before the summit with the druids, and no one noticed. Arthur can only imagine how much Percival must be beating himself up. They were all so busy with the summit that no one noticed Mordred’s absence. Arthur’s beginning to feel a terrible déjà vu to the hippogriff incident. He needs to get out of the room before his panic starts to suffocate him. He turns and starts blindly walking. Heading anywhere but here.

All day he has been worried about failing some stranger with magic who just happens to live in Camelot. He didn’t even realize that he was failing to watch out for his own knights.

Practically running through the hallways now, Arthur doesn’t have time to stop before he collides with a figure turning the corner. He looks down to see Gaius getting up from the ground and reaches out to help him up.

“Sorry, Gaius”

“I’m fine, Sire. Are you alright? You look paler than a ghost.”

“Yes… No, Gaius, when was the last time you saw Mordred?”

“Oh …” Gaius pauses. Then he suddenly remembers, brightly explaining, “Young Sir Mordred left with Merlin to visit his mother in Ealdor. Mordred insisted Merlin not travel alone through the woods, so he went to accompany him.”

Arthur's panic gave way to relief. The knot in his stomach unraveled as he let out a hysterical little laugh and turned to go find Percival again. It was only after he told Percival the news and returned to his chambers to explain the situation to a worried Guinevere that he took a moment to question why Mordred left his armor behind and come to the decision that he was going to strangle both Merlin and Mordred when they returned.

***

The next morning, both patrol’s return from tracking down the slavers. Arthur sees them coming up from the gates at dawn and rushes down to the courtyard to greet them. From his window, he could see that both parties returned together, but with only half of the horses. The men on the horses look to urgently need Gaius, while those on foot all wear grave expression and hold themselves with stony faces and carefully controlled rage. When they arrive in the courtyard, the injured are immediately shuffled towards the physician’s chambers.

Leon, Elyan, and Gwaine approach, Arthur. Gwaine has his arm in a sling, so Arthur can guess which party successfully found the slavers.

“Well, Princess, it could have gone better,” Gwaine starts with his usually confident smile turning more into a grimace.

“You should get that looked at by Gaius,” Arthur tells him. As much as he wants to hear what happened, he had enough of a panic over Mordred yesterday that he does not want to have to worry about another knight today.

“It’s not as bad as it looks. Besides, Gaius will be more focused on the more seriously wounded first. I’ll give my report to you and then go check with him when he is done,” Gwaine answer, somehow being serious and thoughtful for once. Now Arthur’s even more concerned.

“Alright, let's head up to the round table room, and you can explain what happened,” Arthur leads the way back into the castle and asks a nearby servant to send Percival and Guinevere to the room as well. When they’ve all arrived and sat around the table, Gwaine begins explaining.

“On our third night, Kay and I’s patrol was ambushed by the slavers near Everek. They seemed to have some sort of base of operations in the area, but we never found it-“

“Wait, where are Mordred and Merlin,” Leon interrupts. Arthur and Percival shrink in their seats at the question. It took Leon all of five minutes to notice their absence while it took them a whole week to notice Mordred was gone.

“They went to visit Merlin’s mother in Ealdor. She’s become very sick, and Merlin needed to go care for her.”

Leon, satisfied with the answer, nods for Gwaine to continue.

“Well, after we were ambushed, all our horses fled, and we had to make camp since Kay and Pellinor were too badly wounded to travel on foot. We were lucky that a day later, Leon and Elyan’s party came across us. We told them the direction the slavers had gone, and they promised to return to help us once they’d dealt with them.”

Gwaine paused so Leon could tell the story, “We tracked the slavers north, but by that point, they were a day ahead of us. Once we finally found them, they ran across the border to Caerleon’s lands. We couldn’t pursue them any further, so we returned to Gwaine’s camp and provided our horses to carry the wounded back to Camelot.”

As Arthur already expected, the slavers got away. Justice will have to wait a little longer. They can’t follow the slavers into Caerleon, but the second they step foot back into Camelot, Arthur will personally make sure they never leave as free men again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this was meant to be a little filler piece about Arthur noticing Merlin and Mordred are missing, but it totally ran away with me and, honestly, I love it. There are so many new plot points in this thing that I wasn’t planning on and now I am so excited to put them in the rest of the story. 
> 
> Also, Iseldir made an appearance and I’m now convinced Kilgharrah is teaching weekly classes on how to be cryptic. 
> 
> The next chapter will feature our three favorite magic users again and a lot of Merlin and Mordred time. 


	8. Missed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin, Mordred, and Morgana find themselves in trouble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case it isn't clear, this chapter takes place over the same week as the last chapter but ends a couple of days after.

“We need to do something.”

It’s dusk in Camelot, and Merlin sits perched on the windowsill staring out at the gray sky and the lights beginning to flicker in the town below.

“Merlin, did you hear me? We need to do something,” Mordred huffs. He’s sitting on his bed wrapped in blankets staring blankly at his journal with a quill in one hand. He’s been trying to finish his hippogriff sketch, but his thoughts have been stuck on Quincy’s words from this morning. He knows Merlin’s been thinking about it too, which is why he’s finally decided to break the familiar silence that has settled between them. Since their reconciliation, Merlin and Mordred often stay up late hanging out in Mordred’s room. Sometimes they talk, sometimes they eat, and sometimes they just sit in silence, lost in their own thoughts. Right now, Mordred doesn’t have the patience to wait for Merlin to want to talk. He needs to know they have some sort of plan. He needs to feel like he is doing something to fix things.

“ _Mer_ lin,” Mordred whines. It’s a cheap trick, imitating Arthur, but at least Merlin finally turns to him.

“I heard you, Mordred. I’m just thinking.”

“Well, I’m sick of thinking. I need to do something. Quincy said seven people are missing from her camp, and two of them were children. I can’t just sit around sketching hippogriffs,” Mordred flings his journal away with disgust.

“Then sketch a wyvern,” Merlin deadpans.

“Merlin,” Mordred growls.

“Mordred, what do you want to do? We have no information. There’s nowhere to even start looking. Believe me, if I had any idea what might be going on, I would be riding out in a heartbeat to find them. Despite what your stories say, I am not, in fact, omniscient,” Merlin responds with a deathly glare at Mordred. They are both on edge tonight. They’ve been tense since this morning when Quincy traveled to Camelot to warn them that Druids who ventured outside of her camp were going missing. Having to go about their day acting like everything is fine only exacerbated their nerves, and now they have no one left to take them out on but each other.

Mordred relents, plopping back onto his bed with a heavy sigh, “I know, it’s just, I knew Melanie when she was little, and I can’t stand to do nothing while she could be in danger.”

“We don’t know she is in danger.”

Mordred glares at Merlin from under his mound of blankets. He doesn’t succeed in looking very threatening, but message received regardless.

“Ok, I mean, we are pretty sure she is in danger, but we don’t _know_ anything for certain. I’ve asked Aglain to check with some of the Druid camps up north to see if any of their members have gone missing or know what is going on. We need to wait until he returns with any information before we can make a decision on what to do next.”

From under his blanket pile, Mordred just gives a loud, impatient sigh, to which Merlin just rolls his eyes. He finally dismounts from his window perch and heads towards the door. He pauses in the doorway, realizing he probably shouldn’t leave the druid while he’s this worked up but also not knowing what to do.

“Get some sleep Mordred,” he gently orders, knowing full well neither of them will be getting much rest tonight.

“hmfph,” is all Merlin gets in response before he closes the door and heads towards his chambers.

***

It isn’t until noon the next day that Merlin realizes he should probably check on Mordred. From what he heard from Johnathan, the servant responsible for providing breakfast to the knights in Mordred’s wing, the young druid hasn’t left his room yet.

Merlin approaches Mordred’s door, and, sure enough, outside sits a platter with a standard knight’s breakfast. So, Mordred hasn’t even opened the door this morning. It’s almost time for the council meeting, and, as much as Mordred tends to get on Merlin’s nerves, he knows how much Arthur’s approval means to the young knight. He might also still feel slightly guilty about all the teasing he received over ‘the tavern incident.’ Merlin knocks on the door, but when he hears no response, he braces himself for whatever sort of disarray he might find inside and walks in.

Sure enough, the room’s a mess. There are papers everywhere. Not just papers, maps. Each one complete with at least ten pins. At some point, Mordred clearly ran out of pins and started using various plants. In the center of the room is a small bowl of water with a stick and various herbs floating on it. Well, that explains where the makeshift map markers came from. Mordred was trying to do a tracking spell, probably to find Melanie. Next to the bowl of water, slumped on his side, is a passed-out Mordred, curled up on some of the maps on the floor. Merlin carefully steps around the maps and the spell ingredients to shake Mordred awake.

Groggily, Mordred swats his hand away. After a few more shakes, he finally sits up with one of the maps stuck to his face.

“Hello sleepyhead, you’ve got a council meeting in thirty minutes to get ready for,” Merlin chirps while pulling Mordred up off the floor, with the map still on his face.

Thirty minutes later, Mordred is dressed in formal clothes, there isn’t enough time to put on all his armor, but he’s at least presentable as they both walk out of his room and down to the council chamber. They don’t talk about what happened. It’s understood that they don’t need to. Mordred’s stopped Merlin many times from doing something stupid and dangerous just to ensure the safety of his friends and family. They can be reckless when it comes to those they care about. It’s part of the reason Mordred cleans his own room. Not only is he uncomfortable with making someone else do it after years of living in the woods with little to no possessions, but it also ensures that no one accidentally walks in on anything magical happening in there. In the past, they’ve both walked in on each other doing far more dangerous things than simple tracking spells.

Mordred, apparently, feels the need to fill the silence, “I didn’t work. I couldn’t find her,” he mutters, sounding utterly defeated.

Merlin knows why it didn’t work; the tracking spell Mordred used requires the caster to know where the person they are tracking started before it can find where they ended up. He explains this to Mordred, who simply nods along, a blank expression clouding his face.

At last, they reach the council chambers; Merlin throws open the door, only to find everyone already seated. Ah, so the meeting was twenty minutes away, not thirty. Oh well, that’s what you get for relying on him to get anyone anywhere on time. They both walk in-well, Mordred runs-to take their places. Leon starts the meeting with the report from the western patrol, and finally, they have their answer.

Slavers.

Slavers have been taking magic users.

Merlin’s lucky he’s standing behind Arthur, so the king can’t see the horrified expression that slips through his usual cheery mask. Mordred, on the other hand, visibly pales and looks like he’s about to hurl all over the round table.

_Mordred, keep it together. You cannot get sick all over the round table. That thing is a priceless relic, for crying out loud._

Merlin’s attempt at distracting the young druid helps slightly. He no longer looks sick but instead is taking long and controlled breaths to calm himself down.

_You said we would do something as soon as we have information. We have the information, now what are we going to do?_ Mordred challenges, meeting his eyes.

_We leave the instant this meeting is over,_ Merlin promises.

The second Arthur dismisses the council, Mordred runs to his chambers to gather some things, and Merlin heads to the physician’s chambers to do the same. He throws open the door, startling Gaius into dropping the vial he had been filling.

“What’s going on, my boy?” Gaius asks, equal parts annoyed and concerned at Merlin’s frantic packing.

“Slavers have been kidnapping magic users. They are somewhere near the villages along the western border. Gaius, we have to go help them.”

“And you really think it’s a good idea for you and Mordred to go as magic users yourselves?” Gaius questions, raising his eyebrow to the ceiling. Of course, Gaius would need no clarification as to who the ‘we’ is that Merlin was referring to. By now, he is used to their nightly heroics, but that doesn’t mean he approves.

“A patrol of knights already faced them and barely escaped with their lives. There is no one else who can stop them; we have to go.”

“What are just the two of you going to do if they’ve already bested a whole patrol of knights?”

“Don’t worry. We are going to take Morgana as well.”

Gaius clutches his chest in an exaggerated gesture, “Oh, and that makes me feel so much better,” Gaius retorts sarcastically. He turns back to his positions, cleaning up the broken vial and grumbling incoherently. Merlin grabs his blue cloak, the last of his things, and stuffs it in his satchel. He starts running out the door but pauses a moment to shout back, “Oh, and if Arthur asks, tell him we’ve gone to visit my mother.” Gaius waves him off dismissively, so he turns and continues running to meet Mordred in the dungeon, where they will sneak out of the castle together.

Mordred is there before him, dressed in his typical attire for their missions. He’s got on his green cloak along with his leather vanbraces and his sword strapped to his side. Unfortunately, his metal armor contains small traces of cold iron, which can hinder some more complicated spells. Also, it would immediately reveal him as a knight of Camelot, which could draw unwanted attention. As a result, any protection they wear has to be made with natural materials, hence the leather vambraces. The metal also makes far too much noise considering most of their outings require a certain degree of stealth. Of course, Arthur would never believe that Merlin could ever be stealthy.

Merlin throws on his cloak and leads the way down to Kilgharrah’s old cave. On the other end of the cave is a small tunnel they often use to get out of the castle. Once they’ve finally reached the outside, they pull their hoods up. The easiest way to contact Morgana is through Aithusa, so Merlin turns up towards the sky and roars for her to meet them.

They start walking west but don’t get very far before they hear Aithusa’s heavy wing beats and see her white shape descending in front of them. She lands gracefully and silently like a cat and lowers her head so Morgana can dismount. Aithusa is now roughly larger than a horse, and with Mordred’s healing magic, her deformities from her imprisonment have all but vanished. Morgana approaches them with her face covered by her typical red cloak.

“What is it?” Morgana asks, but something in her tone tells Merlin that she already knows.

“Slavers have been taking magic users from the outlying villages.”

Morgana’s expression turns sour, but not surprised, “I had a nightmare last knight about slavers taking villagers, but I hoped it was just a dream.”

Mordred huff and starts walking in their original direction, calling over his shoulder, “and when have you dreams ever just been dreams Gana.”

Merlin and Morgana start walking with him, “Doesn’t mean I can’t still be optimistic.”

Merlin gasps in mock surprise, “Gana, I didn’t think you knew what that word meant.” That earns him a playful punch on the arm, and they both start giggling and swatting at each other.

“Wait,” Mordred stops their catfight, suddenly sounding very panicked, “What excuse did you tell Gaius to give Arthur?”

“I told him to tell Arthur we were going to spend the week visiting every tavern in Camelot. For quality control checks, of course,” Merlin cheerfully explained, grinning mischievously. Mordred was too caught up in his panicking to notice this or the way Morgana had to bite her lip to keep from laughing. She had always been able to see right through Merlin’s pranks. Unfortunately for Mordred, he has no such skill.

“YOU WHAT?!?” Mordred screeched, startling a few of the surrounding birds into taking flight by yelling at an octave higher than should be humanly possible. “I’m going to die. I might as well not bother returning to Camelot. How could you do this to me? The king finally forgave me for ‘the tavern incident.’”

Unable to keep it in any longer Merlin and Morgana burst into full belly laughs, with Mordred too wrapped up in his own embarrassment to actually understand the joke.

It feels good for them to be out of the castle again, and for a moment, Merlin almost forgets why they are here. But, once the giggles settle down, a somber silence passes over the trio as they continue to march west.

It’s almost sunset, with still not a word spoken between them when they reach the Everek. Not wanting to attract suspicion, especially since walking into town with a dragon is very suspicious, they decide to set up camp about a mile outside of the village where no one should find them. Morgana gets to work gathering firewood, which Aithusa helpfully lights, Mordred begins collecting berries and herbs to make a stew for dinner, and Merlin collects water from the nearby stream. They still haven’t broken the silence by the time they settle down in the camp, and Merlin finishes making the stew. There is no need to talk; they all operate mechanically, going through the practiced routine they have perfected over the last few months.

Finally, with the bowls of stew passed around and the silence now turned tense, Morgana speaks up.

“So, slavers…”

She leaves it at that, not knowing how to express all that she is feeling. Luckily, she doesn’t need to. As much as Mordred is stressing over the safety of his fellow Druids, Morgana’s fear is all her own. The threat of slavers has her remembering her time spent locked up in Sarrum’s dungeon. When they first reconciled, Merlin often made the trek out to her hut in the middle of the night to comfort her after she woke up screaming from a nightmare. Now she’s faced with the threat of reliving those nightmares all over again, and the thought terrifies her. Even as a Priestess of the Old Religion, she feels powerless against her own fear.

“Gana, why don’t you and Aithusa head north to check on the Druid camps in the area to make sure they aren’t missing people while Mordred and I continue west to see if we can find the slavers’ base?” Merlin suggests.

“I’m not leaving you to deal with these barbarians all on your own. The magic users taken are my people too. It’s my duty to help them as much as yours.” Gana bites back, sitting up a little taller and forcing her voice not to waver.

“Ok then, tomorrow I’ll head into the village and ask them when and where the slavers were last seen. Until then, we should all get some rest.” Mordred and Morgana nod the acceptance to the plan and lay back on their rolls to try and get some sleep. Merlin cleans the dirty bowl and pans with a bit of magic, sets the wards around the perimeter of the camp, and lays back in his own bedroll.

_Goodnight._

_Goodnight Gana._

_Get some rest, you too, don’t stay up all night chatting._ That earns Merlin a burst of air blowing off his thin blanket. He squawks indignantly and grabs it before it flies away. He then tucks it back around himself and tries to get comfortable on the hard ground. Surprisingly, within minutes, they all fall into a dreamless sleep.

***

“Is it done?” The slaver demands, his large form towering over the girl cowering before him.

“Yes,” she squeaks.

He yanks off the chain connected to her collar, and she falls to her knees. “It’s ‘Yes, Master.’”

“Yes, Master,” she repeats meekly, “they should be stuck in a dreamless sleep.”

“Good,” the slaver grunts. He then turns to his men and orders them to move towards the camp.

***

As someone who suffers from frequent nightmares and visions and nightmare visions, Morgana is all too familiar with sleep spells. She’s also well acquainted with the fact that they don’t work on her. She wakes up to the feeling of a common sleep spell fading. It’s nowhere near powerful enough to knock her out for more than five minutes. The instant she stops making fun of the weakness of the spell, it finally connects in her mind that someone cast a sleep spell on her, and that should a cause for alarm. She jumps up from her bedroll even before she feels someone pass through Merlin’s wards. She quickly shouts a spell to wake Merlin, but before she can turn to do the same to Mordred, someone is running at her, yelling a fierce battle cry. She diverts her attention to launch a fireball at her incoming attacker. The impact of the hit lights his clothes on fire and sends him flying back into a tree. More armed men come streaming out of the forest and running towards her.

These must be the slavers.

The thought paralyzes her. Her hand is raised, she’s poised to attack, but she can’t think of the spell. All she can think about are the magic restraining cuffs hanging from most of the slavers’ belts. The nearest man is about to run her over, and she can’t move. She can’t even move. It’s her worse fear come to life. She’s going to be captured again and locked in a dark cell to rot, but for some frustrating reason, she can’t move to defend herself.

Then as if time freezes, a deep guttural erupts from roar behind her, and the next instant, a white figure is wrapped around her protectively. Aithusa is bellowing out a terrifying screech that has some of her attackers backing away. She hears another commanding roar from behind her. This time Aithusa grabs her around the waist with her front claws and begins to fly away but not before a slaver manages to slice her back open with a sword. The last thing she sees before her mind fades to darkness is Merlin’s figure slumping back down on the ground as she is lifted above the treetops.

***

“Oh, good, you're awake. Took you long enough.”

Mordred’s head is pounding. He’s not sure if his eyes are open or not since all he sees is darkness. After a bit more blinking, he pulls himself into a sitting position and notices that his eyes are, in fact, open; the room he’s in is just incredibly dark. Wait, room isn’t the right word. Cell. This looks like a cell. Why is he in a cell?

“Whut happen’d?” Mordred mumbles, still in a bit of a haze.

“The slavers attacked our camp and brought us here. Even gave us some nice new jewelry,” Merlin explains, raising his arms to indicate the cuffs, but his attempts at humor fall flat. “They cast a sleep spell on us, Morgana was resistant to it, and she was able to break the spell on me. They blocked my magic before I could lift the spell on you, which is why your mind is probably still a bit foggy.”

“Wait, where is Morgana?” Mordred demands, his concern instantly clearing his head.

“She’s fine. I ordered Aithusa to get her away from the camp, but I think she might have been injured. That’s all I remember before they knocked me out and dragged us here.”

Mordred relaxes a little knowing Morgana is at least safe. They fall into an uneasy silence. The only noise in the room is their labored breathing, and the only light comes from a crack under the door. Not much to do now but wait for an opportunity to escape.

***

With no point of reference, Merlin has no idea how much time they spend in the cell before he hears a metallic clicking, followed by the door swinging open. A large man with an angry jagged scar over one eye enters first then followed by two more burly guards. One guard grabs Merlin while the other pins Mordred down on the ground. Despite Mordred’s protests and attempts to wriggle out of the guard’s hold, he is helpless to do anything more than watch as Merlin is manhandled out of the cell. The guard grabs Merlin by the arm and drags him unceremoniously through a series of passageways until they finally reach a circular room outfitted with a faintly glowing circle of runes carved into the ground. The guard shoves him into the circle before taking his place along the wall next to the man with the scar who had entered shortly after. 

Merlin drags himself back to his feet to face his captors. He steels himself, fully prepared to tell them all to shove off, but then the sight before him makes him falter.

Kneeling on the ground next to the slavers is a young woman. With her head bowed, he is unable to see her face, but he starts to panic at the familiar raven hair. Morgana. No, she was supposed to have gotten away. He saw her get away. Didn’t he? Their whole capture was a bit of a blur, but his only relief was in knowing Morgana got away. Aithusa should have protected her. He vaguely remembers ordering Aithusa to protect Morgana. What if something happened to Aithusa. He can’t have failed both of them again.

Overwhelmed with his swirling thoughts, Merlin barely registers the fact that the slavers have started speaking. Apparently, they are explaining something to him, but he can’t rip his gaze away from the pale figure kneeling, submissive and broken.

Seemly done with his little speech, the slaver tugs on the chain connected to the woman’s collar. Finally, she starts to look up. Merlin’s eyes start to water, and his knees feel weak. All he wants to do is run over to Morgana and tell her she’s not alone and they will get out of this together. He startles when he’s met with frightened brown eyes instead of Morgana’s fierce green ones.

This isn’t Morgana. She did get away. Merlin feels like he can breathe again now that the crushing guilt in his chest has lessened. Now that he takes the time to look, he notices that the woman is actually a girl, no more than 14 summers old, and her hair is a dirty brown tinted black from the falling ashes of the torch hanging above her. He recognizes her from Mordred’s description. It’s Melanie.

All at once, the crushing guilt returns. It only lasts a second before it's replaced by a searing pain around his neck. While he was distracted worrying about Morgana, one of the guards came up behind him and locked an engraved collar on him. The instant it touched his skin, all his thoughts and worries were instantly consumed by a raging fire coursing through his veins. He sees nothing, hears nothing, tastes nothing, feels nothing but pain.

At some point, he’s fallen to his knees, and then he hears a spell being cast, and the pain is reduced to a dull ache that leaves his soul feeling hollowed out. Still delirious from pain, he notices his throat hurts. Huh, he must have been screaming. He doesn’t remember. What is does remember are his nightmares of burning on the pyre and vaguely wonders if they finally became a reality.

Once again, the guard grabs him by the arm and begins dragging him down a series of hallways. This time Merlin doesn’t even try to support his own weight as they walk. Even if he did, his shaky legs probably wouldn’t be able to hold him. He is roughly tossed back into his cell, and, without any energy to catch himself, he lands hard on the stone floor.

A blurry figure appears above him, which he vaguely recognizes as Mordred. He tries to say something to tell Mordred they finally found Melanie, but his scratchy throat sends him into a coughing fit instead. When his breathing finally settles back to normal, Mordred sits beside him and rests a comforting hand on his shoulder.

For a while, Merlin drifts in and out of consciousness until he notices Mordred’s presence is missing from beside him. He quickly sits up and scans their dark cell, but the young druid is gone. Merlin hauls himself to his feet and presses his ear to the door, and tries to look through the crack under it in a desperate attempt to figure out what happened to him. Merlin begins to pace for what feels like hours until the door is once again opened, and Mordred is tossed in.

Like Merlin, Mordred hits the floor hard, groaning in pain, but seems to be more coherent than Merlin was when he returned. Merlin helps Mordred sit up against the wall in the cell and takes a place beside him. The young druid now wears a matching engraved collar to the one Merlin was given. Mordred holds his head in his hands, grimacing in pain. After a minute of labored breathing, he finally grumbles, “Well, that explains some things.”

“What?” Merlin startles a little at Mordred’s remark. His experience getting the collar didn’t explain anything about what was going on. 

Mordred gives him a funny look, “What do you mean ‘what’? Did they not give you the whole evil villain monologue they gave me? Honestly, that was almost more painful than the collar.”

Oh, that must have been what he tuned out when he was stressing about Morgana being captured. “Well, I might not have been paying attention,” he at least has the decency to look a little sheepish.

Mordred just rolls his eyes and begins explaining, “I’ll just give you the shorthand version. The slavers have been hunting sorcerers and using these collars to control their magic,” he flicks Merlin’s collar for emphasis, accidentally sending a wave of pain through his spine. Upon seeing his mistake, Mordred yanks his hand back and hurriedly continues explaining, “they have a matching stone for each collar which allows someone to control the magic of the person wearing the collar. That’s how they will eventually sell the magic of their slaves. They’ve been using Melanie to cast the initial spell to lock the collar onto a person. I tried to get to her, but that fancy rune circle they had was like a large cage that prevented me from getting out.”

Mordred pulls his knees up to his chest and tries to bury his head in his arms but jerks in pain when the collar shifts against his skin. He reaches up to itch the collar, but Merlin instantly bats his hands away and starts ripping the bottom of his shirt. He ties the piece of red, blue fabric around Mordred’s neck and under the collar.

“There now were matching.” Merlin gives him a pained smile and leans back again.

Mordred shifts, feeling uncomfortable with his magic burning out of reach just below his skin. He can only imagine what Merlin must feel. “I think the reason you reacted so badly to the collar is because you’re Emrys.” At Merlin’s confused head tilt, he explains further, “I just mean, I know how painful it was for me to be cut off from my magic, but you are Magic. Honestly, I’m surprised it didn’t kill you.”

Merlin's entire expression shifts, the carefully crafted mask he had been maintaining crumbles away completely. Only once it’s gone does Mordred realize Merlin must have been putting on a brave face to make him feel better. Now, Mordred gets a glimpse of the real Merlin hiding under the burden of his destiny. And what he sees is heart-wrenching. Sorrow doesn’t even begin to describe the look in Merlin’s eyes. He suddenly looks to have aged a hundred years under the weight of some unimaginable grief. Mordred only gets to gaze on the true workings of his friend’s mind for a few seconds before he builds up his walls again and slaps on a half-hearted grin.

“Don’t worry. I’m too stubborn to die,” Merlin answers cheekily.

Instantly, everything makes sense. The stories Mordred heard growing up are true. Emrys is immortal. He has so many questions, so many things he wants to tell him to offer comfort, but Merlin’s moment of vulnerability has already come and gone, and Mordred knows when not to push.

Sensing the need for a change in topic, Mordred gives a large groan that is equal parts playful and filled with dread. “You know what the worst part about this whole thing is?”

Merlin throws his hand up, signaling to the magic restraining cuffs, and rolls his eyes, ‘You mean something worse than having our magic bound.”

“Oh yes, it's much, much worse. This whole situation is a minor inconvenience to the hell I will be in when we get back.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because you let Gaius tell Arthur that we are in the tavern!” This sends Merlin into a fit of laughter so strong that he falls over so that he’s sprawled out on the floor, giggling out of his mind. Mordred tries to keep his expression angry, but it’s so good to see his friend laughing again that he lets a satisfied grin slip onto his face.

Mordred's still not looking forward to returning to Camelot, though.

***

Twice, Merlin and Mordred have been provided stale food and dirty water. So far, this has been their only indication of the passage of time. By their best estimate, they’ve been in the cell for three days. Now they’re just left to wonder what the slavers are waiting for.

Once again, the door to their cell is thrown open as two men burst in. Before Merlin’s eyes can even adjust to the harsh torchlight, Mordred is dragged from the room, and the door is slammed shut once again. Fantastic.

Merlin is left with nothing more to do than pace anxiously while waiting for Mordred to return. At least, he hopes Mordred will be returned to the cell. Maybe the slavers are finally done waiting. What if they’ve taken Mordred somewhere where Merlin will never be able to find him?

Merlin’s panicked thoughts continue for what must be hours until the guards return with a bloodied and bruised Mordred in tow. The druid slumps into the ground as the door is cruelly slammed shut behind him. Merlin rushes to his side and lays him down, so Mordred’s head is resting on his lap. Mordred winces in pain at the movement but instantly relaxes at Merlin’s hand running through his hair. Even in the darkness of the cell, Merlin can clearly make out a dark bruise forming over his eye and blood dripping from his cracked lip. From his labored breathing, Merlin predicts the young druid probably has few broken ribs as well.

They sit in silence, Merlin continuing to stoke Mordred’s hair while Mordred breathes heavily.

After a while, Mordred takes a deep breath and weakly whispers, “they recognized me.”

Merlin just gives him a questioning hum, to which Mordred rolls his eyes and huffs. He regrets the gesture immediately since it aggravates his damaged side and makes him cry out in pain. Once he’s able to control his breathing again, Mordred elaborates, “they recognized me as a knight of Camelot … said they’d fought me on a patrol… apparently, I stopped them from raiding a village … they were kind of bitter about it.”

Merlin’s heart aches for the young druid. He’d never be able to find peace. Always living with a target on his back either because he was a druid or a knight.

“They must’ve just been jealous because your such an amazing fighter,” Merlin quietly teases.

“I am, aren’t I. Probably the best knight in Camelot,” Mordred whispers dreamily, still barely on this side of conscious. Merlin hums his agreement, trying to keep a grin off his face. After a moment, Mordred bitterly adds, “too bad the King thinks I spend all my time in the tavern.”

A small laugh escapes Merlin, but he decides now is not the time to torture the young druid further. “Actually, I had Gaius tell Arthur we were going to visit my mother.”

Mordred bolts up, completely forgetting about his injuries and leveling Merlin with a deadly glare. “You what!” he growls. Merlin gives him a playful smirk, which earns him a punch on the arm. All at once, their moment of lightheartedness is broken as Mordred suddenly remembers the pain of his injures and settles back down on the ground, once again resting his head on Merlin. Within minutes, the young druid has fallen into an uneasy sleep, and Merlin decides it’s about time he starts plotting their escape.

***

They were caught by surprise. That’s what he reminds himself as he recites his plan in his mind one more time. They were caught by surprise, but next time they won’t be. Because there will be a next time. They are not abandoning these people. They’re not. They are just … regrouping. However, as much as he tries to justify it, he doesn’t feel any less guilty, knowing he will only be able to get himself and Mordred out.

Mordred is sitting on the floor of the cell, trying to conserve his strength. He may look casual, but Merlin recognizes his determined look from the faces of other knights he’s seen preparing for battle. Mordred’s look gives him the boost of confidence he needs to turn and start pounding on the cell door. He’s yelling and kicking and hitting the door. Finally, it works, and an angry guard swings the door open and charges in. Mordred appears between the guard and the door and delivers a devastating punch to the gut that causes the guard to double over. He jerks his knee up to meet the guard's face, which sends him tumbling back to the far wall of the cell, where he collapses in a motionless heap.

They both go running out of the cell, carefully turning down the maze of passageways in the hopes of finding an escape. From their limited experiences being dragged outside their cell, they were able to compare observations to get a rough idea of where the other captives were being held and where the guards tended to hang out. Hopefully, if they avoid these two areas, they will be able to get out without too much interference. At least that’s the plan. Never said it was a good one.

They travel down a few more dark, empty corridors before their luck finally runs out, and they come face to face with two more slavers guarding a small wooden door. It’s a servant's exit, Merlin realizes, he has seen enough to be able to recognize one. That must mean the slavers have taken over the ruins of an old castle. He doesn’t have time to narrow down the ruins in the area before the guards are charging at them—Merlin ducks as the guard on the left swings at him. Beside him, Mordred presses himself against the wall of the narrow hallway, letting the guard’s momentum carry him past. As the guard passes, Mordred kicks out his knee and grabs his wrist in a fluid motion to disarm the guard and send him sprawling.

Merlin doges blow after blow as his guard keeps swinging madly at him. With every swing, the guard’s sword draws sparks as it scrapes along the stone walls. Merlin sneaks a glance at Mordred and sees the young druid successfully disarming his opponent. His moment of pride gives the guard the opening he needs to bring the sword down on Merlin’s neck. Mordred’s panicked cry is drowned out by the metallic ringing of the sword hitting Merlin’s collar. The damned thing doesn’t break but saves him from decapitation. His breath is knocked out of him from the impact, and by the time he regains his senses, he recognizes a warm and sticky feeling on his shoulder. He doesn’t have time to worry about it because the guard raises his sword once again, and this time, to deal a fatal blow.

A sword protruding from the center of his chest halts the guard mid-attack. The man collapses, revealing a sweaty and exhausted Mordred, finally feeling the effects of adrenaline wear off.

Merlin pulls himself up and wraps his good arm around Mordred’s waist. Together, they hobble towards the servant's exit and open the door to their first taste of fresh air in days. However, they don’t have a moment to rest because they need to get as far away from here as possible before the rest of the slavers realize what happened.

They limp along for hours, needing rest but too wound up to actually get any. By the time the sun is finally up, they couldn’t have traveled more than a few miles. Luckily Mordred recognizes some of the terrain and begins to lead them to a nearby Druid camp. A group of Druids meets them outside the camp, extremely eager to help their Lord Emrys. Merlin’s scowls to do nothing to stop them from bowing to him. The camp elder, Myrisha, shows them to an empty tent all set up with two cots. When a healer comes in not a moment later, already in possession of the necessary poultices to heal their wounds, Merlin shoots Myrisha a knowing look to which she reveals their seer had a vision about their arrival.

After they’ve settled in and let the healer poke and prod and then finally treat their wounds, Merlin leaves a sleeping Mordred to go tell Morgana where they are. Normally, he would just call Aithusa, but with the magic binding cuffs still firmly in place, he has to ask the Myrisha to send a raven.

Luckily, it’s a magical raven, so it only takes about half an hour before he hears the familiar pattern of Aithusa’s wingbeats coming over the treetops. A few of the Druids start crying out in a mixture of awe and terror. Whoops. He probably should have told her to land a little further away. Since he didn’t specify, she seemed to have decided that right in the middle of camp is the perfect place to touch down. At least the Druids don’t seem too angry about her crushing a few of their pots since they're too busy admiring her shining white scales. Morgana gracefully slides off her back, and Merlin lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding at seeing her unharmed. Aithusa bounds up to him, nearly knocking him over as she nuzzles him affectionately.

Morgana closely follows, running up and enveloping him in a giant hug. “Merlin, thank the Goddess, you’re alright,” she breathes into his neck, clinging on to him like he might slip away. “Wait, where’s Mordred?” She pulls back to look at him but still keeps a firm grip on his arms, and he can see her eyes flash with renewed panic.

“He’s just sleeping in the tent. He’s alright, Gana. We both are.”

The panic fades from her expression but is quickly replaced by fury as her eyes focus on the metal collar and cuffs still trapping his magic. “Magic binding cuffs…” she breathes in a horrified whisper.

“The Druids couldn’t get them off, so we had to wait until I could call you. Do you think you can break them?”

Morgana rolls her eyes and scoffs in offense, “Of course I can break them. Do you know who you’re talking to?” She grabs his wrists, placing her hands over the cuffs and wincing slightly as they touch her skin. Her eyes flash gold, and the cuffs dissolve into dust, allowing him sweet relief from the dull burn he’d been haunted by for the past few days.

Without pausing, she moves on to his collar, wrapping her hands around the metal and dissolving it in the same way she did the cuffs. His magic soars in relief as life and energy course through his veins. It feels like a river that was damned finally allowed to flow freely once more. He closes his eyes, allowing all his senses to be soothed by his magic’s calming return.

He opens his eyes to see a smirking Morgana standing in from of him. “You’re glowing, Emrys.” The way she says his title without a hint of mockery confuses him, but he figures she’s just having him on.

“Of course, my eyes would be glowing. I just got my magic back,” he scoffs, trying to decipher if this is another one of her mind games.

“Not just your eyes, Emrys.” Once again, she uses his title with something almost like … reverence. That can’t be right. However, this time he chances a glance down and sees his hands are indeed glowing. In fact, his whole body is emitting a pulsing golden light in tune with his heartbeat.

“Well, that’s new,” he whispers weakly, to which Morgana waves him off and begins walking to the tent where Mordred is sleeping. He really wishes she didn’t leave him because now he is standing alone in front of an entire camp of bowing Druids. Whether he finally understands his title or whether he’s just fed up with trying to stop them from bowing, he can’t really find it in himself be mad about their response.

Fortunately, a few minutes later, his magic settles, and he stops glowing. It’s really lucky the whole glowing thing wasn’t permanently because it probably would have made hiding his magic a whole lot harder. Even Arthur isn’t that oblivious.

***

A few hours and a much-needed nap later, Morgana, Merlin, and Mordred are huddled around a campfire, enjoying some of the delicious stew the Druids made in honor of their visit. With everyone communicating telepathically, the camp is eerily quiet, with only the rustle of clothing and the occasional shuffle of bowls to provide noise. Inside everyone’s head, however, the camp is loud and vibrant. Someone managed to telepathically project music into everyone’s heads, so people can dance along or listen while they chat with their friends.

_… so then we escaped through the small side door and walked all night until we ended up here._ Mordred just finished retelling their whole ordeal to Morgana, whose expression morphed between anger, pity, and horror. With so many conflicting emotions battling inside her, she struggled to choose one to respond with.

Eventually, she chose horror, realizing that they wouldn’t want her pity and the Druids wouldn’t appreciate it if she burned down their camp in a fit of rage.

_Those monsters! I can’t believe they would try and sell your magic like that. It’s not a trading good!_ She emphasized by slamming her bowl on the ground. The loud noise caused a few Druids to look with disapproval in the direction. It seems two decades of fear won’t disappear overnight, so the Druids are still wary of making loud noises and drawing attention to their camp. 

_I know Morgana, but even with the time we spent with them, we still don’t know what they are planning. Why haven’t they moved their captives yet? What are they waiting for?_

_Lucky for us, I was too much of a coward to come save you from that hell hole, so I did find out some things._ She spat out, angry at herself for succumbing to her fears.

_Morgana, you’re not weak, and you didn’t abandon us. In case you forgot, I was the one to order Aithusa to take you away. Besides, we escaped. There is no need to stress over what has already happened. Now, what did you find out?_ Merlin soothes, leaning forward to rest his hand on her shaking one. She looks mildly placated, but he knows she won’t forgive herself for some time. She’s just stubborn that way.

She takes a deep breath and begins to tell them her journey these past few days, visiting a couple of Druid camps to see if they are missing people or have any information on the slaver’s whereabouts. She learned that a few more Druids are missing, but they didn’t know anything else. Then she went to a town known for its population of bandits and other miscreants. There she was able to get into contact with a man who had been loyal to Morgause. According to him, there will be a slave auction in two weeks. The auction is expected to have very ‘special’ slaves for sale.

_That must be what they are waiting for._ Mordred grimly concluded, looking up to confirm they were thinking the same.

_This might be a good thing._ Morgana raises her eyebrow at Merlin in a look that’s a mix between perplexed and concerned for his sanity. _What I mean is, the slavers' outpost is near Everek, but the auction will take place in Osenbry. They will have a two days journey between the two to transport their captives, and when they do, we can ambush them._

Mordred gives him an unreadable look, which quickly transforms into a beaming smile and a clap on the back. _You have clearly spent way too much time in the King’s war council, but I think it’s a great plan._ Mordred’s tone might have come off a little jealous. It’s always much harder to mask emotions when communicating telepathically, but the young druid hardly ever makes such slips. That probably means he’s more than a ‘little’ jealous.

Morgana takes a moment to think it over and then gives her own satisfied smile. _So, two weeks, and then we can finally give those monsters what they deserve._

_Well, we have to survive Arthur’s fury when we return to Camelot first._ They all laugh it off, but Merlin’s internally cringing at the thought of facing Arthur’s anger over their impromptu departure.

***

Traveling back to Camelot takes longer than he had hoped it would. What should have been a one-day journey turns into three days. They weren’t able to stay with the Druids long enough to fully heal, and since Mordred’s magic was so severely weakened from the restraints and Merlin sucks at healing magic, they are forced to move at a snail’s pace to avoid aggravating their injuries further.

Once they reach the Meeting Meadow, Morgana stays behind for fear of being spotted too close to the city. Merlin and Mordred leave her to continue limping along towards Camelot. Eventually, they cross paths with Iseldir’s camp, who had been in Camelot for the peace summit. They don’t stay too long to talk as Merlin desperately wants to avoid being asked to kiss any more babies or bless any more marriages.

When they finally do reach Camelot, it's around midday, and the city is bustling with life. They get a lot of curious glances as they walk up the street towards the castle courtyard due to their ripped and dirty clothes and the multicolored bruise over Mordred’s eye.

Apparently, someone already alerted the King, Queen, and the knights to their arrival since they are all waiting for them on the steps when they walk in. Even from the other side of the courtyard, Merlin can see the anger and disbelief playing out on their friends' faces as they take in their appearances.

Arthur, the first to move as he marches straight up to Merlin, demands, “What happened?”

“We were attacked by bandits,” Merlin stutters out, realizing he probably should have planned out a better excuse with Mordred beforehand.

Gwen is the next to rush up to them, followed closely by the knights. She seemed to remember their alibi and ask with her voice full of concern, “Merlin, is Hunith alright?” Merlin glances out of the corner of his eye at a disgruntled Mordred being looked over by Percival, praying the young druid doesn’t accidentally blow their cover. For someone who lived with the threat of execution his whole life, Mordred is surprisingly bad at lying.

Rather than looking at the angry King slowly turning scarlet in front of him, Merlin turns to face Gwen’s kind face, “She’s fine now, Gwen, thank you for asking,” he sends a pointed look at Arthur, whose fury melts a little. “She was really sick, and the village healer didn’t know what to do. Luckily Gaius was able to give me the recipe for a potion that cured her and the others in the village who had caught the illness.” He hated lying to his friends like this, but it was second nature at this point. Still, seeing Gwen’s worry did make him feel a little guilty.

Arthur sighed, his anger dissipating entirely. He pinched the bridge of his nose, then bit out a frustrated, “go have Gaius look you over,” before turning and marching back into the castle.

Gwen and the knights turned back to them, and Gwen gently explained, “he was just worried about you.”

“Yeah, not to mention how much he and Percival panicked when they realized Mordred had been missing for a week before they noticed.” Gwaine cheekily added with a mischievous grin.

“WHAT,” Mordred squeaked, highly offended.

Percival gently cuffed Gwaine around the head, which still hurt because it was Percival, to which Gwaine added, “hey, it’s not my fault servants talk.”

“You didn’t notice I was gone for a whole week!” Mordred continued with baffled horror.

Merlin, sensing possible problems with their alibi should Mordred continue with an angry rant, quickly grabbed the young druid by the arm and dragged him off to Gaius’ chambers.

They received a stern eyebrow, but Gaius said nothing more as he checked them over and gave them each a poultice for their wounds.

Mordred left to return to his chamber, muttering something about not being appreciated while Merlin just rolled his eyes and started to make lunch for him and Gaius. While looking for the ingredients and trying to avoid grabbing poison among the organized chaos of Gaius' workspace, he spots Mordred’s poultice. The idiot forgot it amidst all his wallowing over being forgotten. He grabs the poultice and marches to Mordred’s chambers to give it to him before he has to hear the young druid telepathically complaining about how much his side hurts for the next week.

He’s about to turn the corner to the castle wing with the knights’ chamber, but he stops when he hears a very familiar voice. He would recognize that patronizing tone anywhere. Sure enough, Merlin peeks around the corner and sees Mordred getting chastised by Arthur.

“Tell me again, Mordred,” Arthur says slowly, in his typical ‘I’m talking to an idiot’ voice, “why did you not wear your armor while escorting Merlin to Ealdor?”

Merlin bristles at the word ‘escorting.’ He can handle himself, thank you very much.

“I didn’t have enough time to put it on,” Mordred admits. Wow, ok. So that’s what he’s going to go with.

Arthur lets out a carefully measured breath, and Merlin can practically see the King counting to ten in his head. This argument must have been going on for a while because usually, Arthur has a soft spot for the young druid.

“Merlin couldn’t have waited twenty minutes for you to put it on?”

“Twenty minutes can be the difference between life and death, Sire.” Merlin’s truly amazed at Mordred’s ability to keep a straight face.

“So can wearing armor!” Arthur bursts. He takes another carefully measured breath to reel his frustration back in. “You could have sent Merlin ahead and then caught up with him.”

“But, Sire, what if he had been attacked while I was trying to catch up with him. I would have been useless as an escort.”

Arthur lets out a little growl on his next exhale and pinches his brow, and bows his head, looking completely defeated by the conversation. Merlin can see the tears of frustration welling up in both their eyes. He decides it's probably time he steps in and stops the two from doing something they will regret. Just as he’s about to casually walk around the corner like he hasn’t been listening the whole time, Leon appears from the other end of the hallway.

Arthur, being the coward he is, grabs Leon by the shoulder, shoves him in front of Mordred, and growls, “deal with this,” before stalking away presumably to take his anger out on some training dummies instead of Mordred. 

Mordred turns to Leon and bows his head, awaiting another scolding. Instead, Leon claps Mordred on the shoulder and gives a very carefree and uncharacteristic grin, “Don’t worry about it. Personally, I think armor can just get in the way sometimes.”

Mordred’s head snaps us so fast Merlin gets whiplash just from watching. The young druid’s expression is flooded with confusion at Leon’s playful tone rather than the disappointed one he was expecting.

Mordred, because for some reason, he hates himself, mutters in response, “But, I also lost my sword too.” Merlin is going to have to do a better job of teaching him how to avoid work and escape punishment.

“Ah well, we both know you don’t need it,” and then, to everyone’s shock, Leon _winks_.

Mordred’s frozen in position, looking at the First Knight with a mix of confusion and terror. Leon only gives a light chuckle at Mordred’s expression, claps him on the back once more, and walks away.

Mordred whirs around once Leon leaves and locks eyes with Merlin, no doubt having sensed his presence the moment he arrived.

_DOES LEON KNOW?!?_ Mordred screeches into his mind.

_Know what?_ Oh wow, in his panic Mordred even managed to reach out to Morgana from so far away.

_Nothing to worry about, Gana. Leon can’t know. We would know if Leon knew._ Right?

_DID YOU NOT JUST HEAR HIM!_ Somehow even telepathically, Mordred manages to screech at a frequency only dogs can hear. Merlin doesn’t really have a good answer to give Mordred, so he just plops the poultice in his hand and flees the scene as quickly as possible.

***

Mordred walks back to his room in a daze. He might’ve even missed Percival’s large form in his room if he handed felt a large hand rest on his shoulder. The second he sees Percival’s kind, comforting eyes, he lets himself forget about Leon and what he might or might not know.

“Are you alright?” Percival asks, concern written all over his face.

Mordred just nods, not trusting his voice. His attention is immediately drawn to a small package Percival is holding out to him. He puts the poultice down so he can carefully take the package and looks up to the man he considers a brother in confusion.

“One of the druids who came to visit named Iseldir gave it to me to give to you,” Percival explains.

Mordred walks over to his bed and sits down, sending a plume of dust into the air. He scrunches up his face and gets sent into a minor coughing fit. He regrets not asking a servant to dust his room while he was away. Percival joins him on the bed, which sinks under his weight. Mordred unties the cord and lets the brown parchment wrapping fall away.

His eyes start to water and blur so that he can barely see what he’s holding. However, he doesn’t need to. He would recognize this totem anywhere. It was his father's, and it’s been in their family for generations. When his father was executed, the totem was lost, but somehow Iseldir must have found it and gave it to Percival. Only Iseldir would be so poetic as to have Percival, his new family, return something to him from his old family.

Percival must have seen the flurry of emotions crossing Mordred’s face because he extends his arm for Mordred to cuddle into. Mordred shuffles over into the embrace, still clutching the totem and tracing his fingers over the familiar owl carving.

When he finally trusts his voice not to crack, he begins to explain, “It was my father's…” They don’t talk about their lives before Camelot very much. He knows Percival’s family was murdered, and Percival knows Mordred's is dead, but they’ve never shared any of the details with each other. Percival doesn’t press, but Mordred feels like he needs to tell someone, to share how much this gift means to him. “I used to play with it when I was younger. I would trace the shape and then try to carve a copy into another piece of wood. I was never very good at it, but I wanted to be matching with my dad, so I kept trying… It’s been in my family for generations, and he promised that when I came of age, he would pass it on to me as my grandfather did for him…. but he never got the chance.”

“What happened?” Percival leaves the question open, but something warm fills Mordred’s heart in hearing someone actually express interest towards his father, who would have until recently been considered a vile criminal.

“He was murdered.” Mordred can’t help the hatred that seeps into his tone. He may have forgiven Arthur for not being able to save his father, but he will never forgive Uther.

Percival doesn’t ask any further, and this time Mordred’s grateful for it. He feels himself start to drift off in his brother's comforting arms until he feels something slip over his neck and a blanket tucked up around him. He blearily looks up to Percival’s kind eyes and lets himself relax into the most peaceful sleep he'd had in ages.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow, there you go. This monster chapter was completely unexpected, but I’m so glad I wrote it. It probably could have been 2 or 3 chapters but I didn’t want to split it up because it paired with the last chapter so nicely.
> 
> So do you think Leon knows or is he just being cryptic again?!?
> 
> Also, I had fun with Mordred’s father’s totem. That was another thing I was not expecting to have in the story, but it kinda worked out. Any ideas on how it should appear in the story in the future? The only stipulation is it can’t be a part of the reveal since I already have that planned out.
> 
> Anyway, I don’t have any more written so it will probably be at least another solid week before I post another chapter.


	9. Milady

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur takes the knights on a hunting trip. Chaos ensues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter took forever to write. I want to apologize in advance for any typos or mistakes because I didn't edit it as thoroughly as I usually do, but I wanted to finally post it so I can move on to the last chapter.

Stone wall. Brick wall. Marble wall.

Arthur turns the corner to … another stone wall.

He has spent far too long inside the castle lately and its starting to get to him. He pauses walking down the hallway to look forlornly out a stone window at the grass training field below. He squints a little even though the day is overcast and the sun is nowhere to be seen. The grass’ vibrant greens hurt his eyes. Yikes. He’s definitely been spending too long inside this monochrome gray stone castle.

On the training field, he can spot Gwaine and Elyan having a lazy fit fight. Off to the side, Percival is studying their moves with the utmost concentration while Leon is checking the balance of the practice swords. A little further across the field, he spots a lazy oaf distracting one of his fine knights. _Damn it_. He finally remembered to move their seats apart in the council meetings, but it seems he’s going to have to work harder to prevent Mordred from learning his idiot manservant’s knack for avoiding work. Gawine already holds the position of most irresponsible knight, and the last thing he needs is a new mix between Gwaine and Merlin running around causing havoc.

Arthur takes one last longing look at his friends and then back down to the paperwork he is carrying in his hands and lets out a sorrowful sigh. Sometimes. Just sometimes being king sucks.

Arthur moodily marches back to his chambers while trying to mentally prepare himself for another long day spent managing the requests and reports of his nobles and knights. He is unsuccessful.

He throws the door open, stomps over to his desk and plops down. He blindly reaches for his quill to start the paperwork, but his hand hits something solid instead. He looks up to see his own refection staring back at him from his shinning crown which is sitting on his desk. Merlin must have forgotten to put it away once his finished polishing it. Sure enough, next to the crown is a rag and an open jar of polish. What good is being king if he can’t even get a competent manservant.

Wait a minute. He’s King.

If he doesn’t want to sit in this stuffy stone castle and read paperwork then no one can make him. Freshly energized from this revelation, Arthur jumps up and flies out of his room to go order his lazy manservant and his knights to prepare for a hunt.

***

“I don’t understand why your idea of an afternoon off has to involve killing things,” Merlin whined, shifting in his saddle. The movement upset his mare Lily, who nipped in the air to remind him to stay still.

Really, they had only been riding for a couple of hours. Merlin shouldn’t be sore already, so he was clearly only doing it to be melodramatic. It occurred to Arthur that maybe his friend was still sore from when he and Mordred had been attacked by bandits, but he hadn’t shown any other signs of pain. Arthur chose not to let Merlin’s complaining dampen his bright mood.

With repealing the ban on magic and the summit with the druids, Arthur hadn’t had much time to relax and enjoy the company of his friends. The forest felt incredibly peaceful and full of life. He had been missing it since spending all his time stuck in the castle. It felt good be out in nature again.

For all his complaining, Arthur could see Merlin enjoyed it as well. Merlin’s smiles seemed a bit more genuine and the spark in his eyes a bit brighter. Even his bantering was cheekier and more playful whenever they were outside.

“Quit acting like a girl’s petticoat, _Mer_ lin”

He could see Merlin grumble beside him, but then settle into a content silence. They rode like that for a little while until Gwaine began regaling them with another tavern story. This time he described how he fought off three men with nothing but a pair of dice (last time Gwaine told the story it was a pair of daggers, but no one felt the need to ruin his tale).

They continued on their way for several hours, eventually catching a pheasant and a couple of rabbits. Once the sun was setting, Arthur decided they should probably start looking for a place to make camp. They had reached an area that Arthur was vaguely familiar with. Arthur knew most of the forest surrounding Camelot like the back of his hand, however, this area had an otherworldly feel and made some distant memory tingle in the back of his mind. At last, it clicked.

It was magic.

If only he hadn’t been so blind before. Magic was all around him and it was beautiful. He dismounted, and pushed his way through a few bushes until he came to stand in front of a shimmering lake surrounded by giant mountains.

It took his breath away.

He could hear his knights come through he foliage behind him, and give equal exclamations of awe at the sight. Arthur turned once he realized he hadn’t heard a certain manservant give a witty remark in the last five minutes. Merlin looked to be stuck between a mix of overjoyed and apprehensive. The emotions fought of space for a minute before settling on the same contentment he saw whenever Merlin was in the nature.

“Let’s set up camp here,” the knights all nodded numbly, still starring at the view in front of them. Merlin just huffed in amusement at their gaping faces, and got to work tying up the horses and setting up camp. Arthur almost fell over in astonishment. _Merlin_ was doing what he ordered. Wow this clearing really was magic.

Eventually, the knights returned to their senses to help Merlin with setting up camp so he could start making dinner. Not Arthur, of course. He was king after all, and still basking in the realization that allowed him to take this little impromptu vacation. Guinevere was not going to be happy with him for leaving her alone with the council meetings for a couple of days, but she would forgive him.

Eventually.

Despite her extreme levels of composure and self-control, which Arthur could never hope to achieve, he could see she needed a break as well. He would be sure she got some time off when he returned. Maybe her and Elyan would like to take a trip to visit her father’s grave. Arthur’s thoughts on how to make it up to Guinevere were interrupted by Gwaine jumping into the lake with a large splash.

“Come on in Princess. The water feels amazing,” Gwaine called.

Percival and Elyan ran in after the mischievous knight. Mordred and Leon were still undressing, but quickly heading towards the shore. Arthur approached the shore, but paused before he set foot in the water. He was suddenly struck by a sense of Déjà vu. It was then that he remembered why it felt like he’d been in this area of the forest before.

He’d nearly drowned in this lake. Suddenly, he didn’t feel like swimming.

However, just as he turned around to put back on his shirt, someone grabbed him and pulled him back into the water. He came back up to the surface for air only to be confronted with Gwaine’s smug grin. He splashed the knight straight in the face for good measure before swimming out to where the other knights were fooling around.

Elyan began a game of tag of which Percival was miserable at and constantly ended up being it. Mordred kept taking pity on Percy and letting him tag him, and thereby entirely defeating the purpose of the game.

“Let’s race to that rock,” Elyan challenged.

“I bet 5 silvers I can get there first,” Gwaine proclaimed. Never ones to back down from competition all the knights agreed and were soon swimming as fast as they could towards a rock in the middle of the lake. Surprisingly, Mordred reached the rock first, followed closely by Gwaine and Arthur and then rest. Once Percival arrived, he hoisted a celebrating Mordred up onto his shoulders and then proceeded to drop him unceremoniously into the water.

“Congratulations on your victory, Sir Knight,” a feminine voice called. Everyone instantly froze. Arthur was pretty sure that the delicate feminine voice that asked the question hadn’t come from any of his knights. He also was pretty sure he hadn’t seen any other people nearby. As one, all the knights looked up to the rock they were swimming by to see a girl sitting perched atop it. She was wearing a beautiful flowing white and gold gown that was impossibly dry for someone sitting on a rock in the middle of a lake. She greeted them with a sincere smile, but tilted her head in amusement at their confused expressions.

Arthur heard a sharp little gasp escape Mordred beside him. The young knight went paler than a ghost and was currently gaping openly in awe of the girl sitting before him. Seriously, you would think he had never seen a woman before. Maybe Arthur should help Mordred find a lady to court. That would certainly prevent him from spending too much time with Merlin. Arthur filed that through away for later and turned his attention back to the girl sitting in front of him. Luckily, his other knights weren’t quite as inept with woman as Mordred and quickly recovered their surprise to act like the noble and respectful knights they were (well, most of the time).

“My lady, what are you doing out here?” Leon kindly asked.

She merely tilted her head in confusion and stated, “I live here,” as if it were normal to live on a small rock in the middle of a lake.

“Who are you,” Mordred blunted a little breathlessly with his eyes still wide as if not believing that a girl was sitting right in front of him. It didn’t sound like a question, but as if he already knew the answer.

“My name is Freya, but most people know me as the Lady of the Lake,” she answered happily.

Mordred gave a little “oh” and looked as if he was about to pass out. Arthur saw Percival shift a little closer to the young knight just in case he needed to prevent Mordred from accidentally drowning himself. He needed to have a serious talk with Mordred about women when he returned home. Maybe he could get Guinevere to help him. Yes, this seemed like something that bordered too close to emotions for him to feel comfortable dealing with, but luckily feelings were Guinevere’s specialty.

His attention is ripped away from Mordred’s love life, by Gwaine finally asking a sensible question, “I’ve heard of the Lady of Lake in my travels. Are you a sorceress?” Arthur felt a little bit of pride in the complete lack of hatred or distain in Gwaine’s voice. It seems he’s been at least a little successful in helping magic to be seen in a more positive light.

“I did practice a little magic. I was a druid after all” Something about her answer bothered him, but Percival figured it out before he did.

“Was?” the gentle knight questioned.

“I died,” Freya answered brightly, still smiling.

Oh.

Yikes.

An awkward silence followed that revelation. All the knights didn’t seem to know what to do. They weren’t very good with those pesky things called emotions. The stood like that exchanging questioning glances with each other until a bubbly laugh made them focus their attention on the lady again.

“I’m sorry. It’s not very often I get to mess with people. You know it’s quite boring being dead. Anyway, I’m not upset about my death, but I couldn’t resist seeing the look on their faces,” she explained sheepishly while still grinning.

“Well I’m sorry for your loss … of life, anyway,” There. That sounded kingly enough. Arthur thought he handled that pretty well all things considered and gave himself a little pat of the back.

“It’s alright. I forgave you a long time ago,” she answered waving him off and starting to use the water to doodle on the dry parts of the rock.

“Forgave me? What did I do to wrong you, my lady?” Arthur was now thoroughly confused, he’s pretty sure he would remember offending a water spirit.

“You killed me,” she stated simply, not looking up from her doodling.

Oh…. Oops.

She must have noticed the way all the knights went completely still and the atmosphere suddenly turned tense because she finally looked up from her drawing to meet his eye. “I am not upset. Truly. I was captured by a bounty hunter and brought to Camelot. However, I was cursed to kill as a Bassett, and you only did what was necessary to protect your people. When I died, I was finally freed me from my curse. Now I get to watch over the gates of Avalon. I should be thanking you.”

“Thanking me?... for killing you?” Arthur was having a difficult time wrapping his head around this. Magical situations often gave him headaches in the same way Merlin’s antics gave him headaches. Usually, the best medication was just to avoid both entirely.

“Well, I admit it would be nice to be alive, but at least now I can be with my love for all eternity.” Arthur really didn’t feel the need to unpack that statement, so he just shuffled it right over to the don’t question to closely list (It’s a rather long list at this point) and decided to stage a tactical retreat.

“It was nice meeting you, milady. We should be going and not disturb you further,” Yes, a hasty retreat seemed to be the best course of action before Freya decided she actually was angry about him killing her. Leon seemed to be thinking the same thing since he was already nudging the other knights back towards the shore.

“Alright, bye. I hope you’ve been taking care of the sword.”

Arthur should know better than to indulge her questions further. He should just shove her right onto the don’t question to closely list and return to his headache free hunting trip. But he can’t. So, he turns back and asks, “What sword?”

She rolls her eyes at him, like he’s supposed to know exactly what sword she is talking about.

“Excalibur, you dollophead,” Arthur is momentarily thrown off by the name calling. He’s also not sure where she could have possible learned that word since he’s pretty sure Merlin made it up.

“What about Excalibur?”

“I hope you’ve been using it wisely since I returned it to you,” she explained as if she was talking to a small child.

“I pulled Excalibur from a stone. I don’t recall it every being in your lake.”

“I guarded it in my lake before you pulled it from the stone.”

“No, the sword had been in the stone for hundreds of years, but you only died a few years ago.”

She apparently gave up on the conversation, “If you say so,” she shrugged before hopping off her rock and disappearing back into the lake.

Arthur just shook his head and chocked it up as a weird magic thing. The knights all swam back to camp, and got dressed just as Merlin finished making the food.

“Dinner’s ready,” he called as he started serving the stew into everyone’s bowls. The knights all made their way over and began to settle around he fire.

“Ooo what is it?” the same feminine voice from earlier called.

Arthur sighed and slumped his shoulders a little in defeat. He was so looking forward to a simple and relaxing hunting trip, but alas the gods have forsaken him. He was also bracing himself for Merlin’s total freak out over seeing magic. He had always been afraid of it, but Arthur had tried his best these past few weeks to let him get adjusted to the idea of magic returning to Camelot. Still, he was worried about Merlin panicking like a total girl.

Merlin just stopped pouring the stew, ladle still in hand, and blinked a few times at the girl now sitting on a rock on the shore of the lake. He continued to blink a few more times before looking to Arthur and then back to Freya, giving a noncommittal shrug and returning to serve the stew.

“Its stew,” he answered pleasantly, not bothering to look up from what he was doing.

Freya just have a little hum of acknowledgement. Now Arthur was really confused. Why wasn’t Merlin more disturbed by the fact that a girl just came out of nowhere. He looked to Leon, his second in the command, who had never let him down. Today, however, Leon failed him. He just looked in between Merlin and the girl and just gave Arthur a helpless shrug.

“Merlin… this is the Lady of the Lake,” Arthur explained tentatively, still waiting for the panic to set in.

Merlin just gave him a ‘you’re an idiot’ look, and said, “Yes, I know Freya. I figured from what I heard about you and the Druids and the water from the lake of Avalon that you knew about her too.”

Arthur would rather not have been remined of his embarrassment at accidentally drinking the Druids sacred water, but he pushed that aside for now. Merlin was acting off. There was something about the way he said Freya’s name that seemed like he knew her personally. Then he realized, he never actually told Merlin her name.

“Wait, how do you know the Lady of the Lake,” Gwaine asked before he could, “Merls have you been holding out on me. I knew you were secretly a total ladies man.”

Merlin turned completely scarlet at Gwaine’s joking, but it didn’t seem like he wanted to comment further. Luckily, Freya had no problems sharing.

“He was the one who saved me from the bounty hunter’s cage. He promised to help find a way to free me of my curse. We had planned to run away from Camelot together, but I died before we could,” She explained casually.

Gwaine suddenly looked like he regretted his teasing and laid a comforting hand on Merlin’s shoulder which he shrugged off.

“I figured he would have told you all about me. You know given that the ban is lifted,” she remarked while glaring at Merlin pointedly.

He immediately retuned her glare and grit through his teeth, “It’s a sensitive subject, alright.”

Freya was not so easily appeased, “Oh Merlin, you need to get over yourself. You know as well as I do that it was not our destiny to be together like that.”

The way Freya spoke of destiny it seemed like she was refereeing to something concrete rather than the whimsical futures that poets spoke of.

“What do you mean destiny?” Percival asked, clearly remembering the Druids way of taking destiny very seriously.

“She meant it metaphorically,” Merlin quickly cut it before Freya could answer. She seemed very put off by this response and gave an angry little huff.

“Also, how come Arthur has no idea the orgins of his sword?” she chided.

Merlin started spluttering and Mordred once more looked like he might pass out. At least Percival was still close by keeping an eye on him, so he didn’t face plant in his own stew. Arthur shifted awkwardly at listening to the conversation that was now beginning to sound more like a lovers quarrel. However, now Arthur was feeling more than a little troubled about whatever was going on with his sword.

“What do you mean? Excalibur was in a stone for hundreds of years before I pulled it out. Merlin told me the story…” That’s when Arthur realized he probably shouldn’t have been trusting Merlin to give him a history lesson. He promptly scowled at his friend who started to shrink into himself as if wishing to be anywhere but here.

“You’re explaining it,” Freya stated sternly to Merlin with a steely look on her face. Arthur took a moment out of his rising anger to appreciate how quickly she could go from airheaded maiden to commanding goddess.

“Wha- no! I’ll just distract him until he forgets about it! I told you now was not the right time!” Merlin jumps out of his seat and shouts a Freya. Arthur got the distinct feeling he Merlin did not mean for him to hear that.

“You do that every time. You can’t keep using his obliviousness as an excuse to keep the truth from him!” Freya shouted back. At this point, Arthur was starting to feel a little offended and a lot like they forgot he was here.

“Mer _lin_ you are telling me the truth, and you are doing it this instant,” Arthur ordered in his best kingly voice. From Merlin’s mocking smirk he could tell Merlin recognized the tone, but he sat down with a defeated sigh anyway.

“Excalibur is actually a magical sword because it was forged in a dragon’s breath. When Morgana invaded Camelot, I came to Freya, and asked for the sword so that I could give it to you. Since it’s magic I could stick it in the stone. I … made up the story to inspire you into acting like the great king I know you are instead of the mopey prat you were being,” Merlin explained carefully.

Arthur was furious, but he had to admit Merlin’s deception was actually kind of … caring. He wanted to be angry, but Merlin’s plan had worked and he got his kingdom back. Despite his friend’s idiocy, he had the best intentions and Arthur couldn’t fault him for that. However, Arthur still felt there were a lot of holes and missing pieces in Merlin’s story, and one glance at Freya’s still icy glare confirmed his theory. But, Arthur hoped he would get the rest of the story later when Merlin wasn’t put on the stop by his angry dead girlfriend.

For now, Arthur simply cuffed him on the back of the head, and took deep satisfaction in Merlin’s little, “ow, you prat.”

All the knights returned to their stew, except Mordred to still looked paler than a ghost, while Merlin and Freya began a deadly staring match.

“No,” Merlin said, finally breaking the silence that had been filled only with the sounds of spoons scrapping on bowls.

“Merlin, I just want you to be happy,” Freya pleaded. From the looks of things, they seemed to be rehashing an old argument.

“I am happy. Perfectly happy with exactly the way things are. They will change when they need to change, but until then I am happy,” Merlin growled. His low and angry voice didn’t sound very happy, but Arthur wasn’t planning on being a couple’s therapist. He resumed staring at his bowl of stew.

“That may be, but you could be happier and lead a more fulfilling life. Stop putting off your destiny. There is nothing left to wait for.”

“Why does she keep mentioning destiny, Merlin?” Percival once more asked.

“Nothing! She’s still being metaphorical,” Merlin snapped before Freya could get a word in, “besides, just because there is nothing to wait for doesn’t mean I should rush into it.”

Merlin and Freya returned to glaring at each other silently once more. Occasionally, they would sneak glances at Mordred who had finally recovered from his shock at seeing the Lady of the Lake twice in one day.

Arthur was completely and truly done with the chaos his trip had become curtesy of his manservant. All he wanted to do was sleep and then have an uneventful return to Camelot for once. Resolved to do just that, he laid down on his bedroll, pulled his blanket over his head and chose to avoid thinking about how much he looked like a pouting child.

***

In the morning, Arthur woke up the sounds of hushed arguing. _Damn it! They’re at it again._ He rolled over to see Merlin standing at the shore of the lake arguing with a Freya in hushed whispers. For some unfathomable reason, Mordred seemed to be trying to mediate their argument. Arthur vowed to help Mordred find his own girl in Camelot so that he wouldn’t have to settle for getting involved in Merlin’s dysfunctional life.

The knights all woke up one by one and began packing up their belongings. Eventually, Merlin marched back to camp followed by a defeated looking Mordred (maybe Guinevere knows someone Arthur can set him up with) and they packed up the last of the camp. Just as they mounted the horses, all at once, the knights’ swords disappeared from their sides. Arthur and the knights went into an immediate panic and began looking around for the threat until Merlin sighed and cursed Freya before dismounting and marching back towards the lake.

Arthur and the knights followed suit and returned to the lake to find a very pleased looking Freya standing on the shore with all the knights’ swords laying at her feet.

“Why did you steal out swords? Have we done something to offend you?” Arthur politely asked. Last thing he needed was to piss off the guardian of Avalon even more than Merlin already had.

“Nope, I was just giving him one last chance,” she said looking at Merlin. He gave her a scowl in return before going and grabbing Excalibur and tossing it back to Arthur. Not really the way the king’s sword should be handled. but Arthur could at least recognize the severity of Merlin’s bad mood enough to know not to push. 

“But why our swords?” Gwaine asked curiously.

Freya just gave him a vague little shrug and said, “hiding swords is just kind of my thing.”

With all their swords once more collected, the knight’s retreated back to their horses, but not before Freya called out, “Come visit me soon, Merlin,” as pleasantly as if their previous arguments hadn’t happened.

Merlin’s anger melted as well as he responded, “I promise I will as soon as this prat gives me a day off.”

Freya’s icy glare immediately returned, but this time it was directed at Arthur. The king tried to keep his composure under her ire, but also made a mental note to give Merlin a day off soon.

At last, they finally left the clearing, mounted their horses and set off back towards Camelot. This had certainly been one of Arthur’s most bizarre hunting trips, and that was saying something. He got answers to questions he didn’t even know he should have had.

Even though it was dangerous to think such a question and he knew it was completely crossing onto things on his don’t question to closely list, Arthur couldn’t help but ask himself: what else is Merlin hiding from him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know I told myself I was just going to write a maybe 1000-2000 word fluffy chapter with some lighthearted moments and some secrets starting to unravel. And then this happened. This whole chapter was originally going to be a small part of a larger chapter with other things happening, but then it took forever to write so I had to scrap that idea and this is what you are left with. Sorry it took so long. 
> 
> I now realize including Freya and having to explain her death probably wasn’t the best way to make this a lighter chapter, but oh well. I think she ended up being pretty entertaining when she was yelling at Merlin for not telling Arthur about his secrets. Mordred’s also a complete overwhelmed mess, but that’s nothing new. 
> 
> Hang on just a little longer. We’re almost at the end! It’ll probably more like two weeks for the next chapter since I want to make sure the ending turns out good.

**Author's Note:**

> I would love to know what you guys think so far!


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